


Life Can Do Terrible Things

by DestielAddicted



Series: Full Length Fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Bully Dean, Bullying, Cutting, Dark, Depressed Castiel, Depression, Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Public Humiliation, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicidal Castiel, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Triggers, Trust Issues, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 32,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielAddicted/pseuds/DestielAddicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester doesn't know why he hates Castiel, or why he bullies him, all he knows is that the kid probably deserves it. What he doesn't know is that Castiel gets enough of it at home, and plus some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a comment left on my work that made me think. I hadn't realized that I never addressed the issue in a note before, so I'm doing so now. Just because I'm writing about situations like sexual abuse, bullying, self harm, depression, etc, it doesn't mean that I condone it or excuse it in any way. Abuse is abuse and when I do write my darker fics, I try to be as realistic in the character's reactions as I possibly can, including their tendency for forgiveness (or lack thereof). My stories are tagged properly and if some of the issues are triggers for anyone, please don't read on. I'm not here to bring on panic attacks or cause any emotional trauma, I'm here to write, and I find myself attracted to writing the darker parts of life. In this story, the character abused deals with grief in his own way, as many of us do, but no matter how one decides to deal with trauma does not invalidate them or what happened to them. I didn't write this as a political statement or to be a bad person, I wrote it because my 15 year old self thought up a plot and made it into a (mediocre) fanfiction. But I'm slightly wiser now and I'd like to explain the situation thouroughly. Heed the tags, please, and keep the idea that we all handle trauma differently, and this is Castiel's way (as interpreted by me in this au, at least).
> 
> I'll be adding some hotline numbers to the beginning of each chapter, just in case. Of there's anything you find wrong (morally) with this fic, please let me know so I can resolve the issue. Thank you.
> 
> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

**September**

Castiel always sat alone during lunch. He almost never ate though, he would just sit in the library, rereading a book he'd read about four hundred times already. Only sometimes would he find a new book to read from the thousands on the shelves, easily accessible. His favorite and most visited shelf was the science fiction one. It was his go-to section and it's where he checked out most of his books from.

He would always wait in agony for the bell to ring beforehand, signalling lunch, then dart out of his classroom, straight to the library to avoid any unneeded conflict. He would head straight to the library, keeping his head down and muttering apologies to anyone he'd run into along the way. They usually called him a name, even with his apology, or they'd shove him back, twice as hard. He tried to ignore those people. He'd done it everyday for the past two and a half years, so it was palpable to say he had gotten the hang of it by now. 

Now though, in the safety of the library, because the people he hated didn't show up here unless they were forced to. He sat in one of thd back tables of the library, reading one of the books he picked off of the science fiction shelf. He'd left his favorite book at home - the one with the cracked abused spine, broken in half by how often it was open - and he'd rather not call his father to drop it off, he'd rather not make his father angry. He could just do with a different book. It would only be for today anyways, then he'd be sure to never forget it again, hopefully.

He didn't like to eat at lunch, ironically. He didn't like what the school served, because to be honest, it was the stereotypical 'is this chili or did they just find it in a pig trough' looking food. He steered clear of it unless he was particularly hungry and just forgot to pack something. He didn't like eating in front of people too often, it felt weird, like everyone was staring at him - as if anyone would actually waste their time watching Castiel eat. It was a stupid thought for him to have, but thanks to his anxiety, no lunch for him.

The bell rang all too soon - it usually did whenever Castiel was just beginning to feel happy and content - and Castiel let out a small groan. He closed his book and set it back on the shelf, right by the other works of the same author. Standing up and patting down his pants of imaginary wrinkles, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and pushed his other arm through the opposite strap. He waved a quick goodbye to the librarian, who offered a kind smile, the corner of her eyes wrinkling up behind her glasses, and left.

He hated the school halls, so much.

People that Castiel hated, and that hated Castiel in turn, dominated the already overcrowded hallways. The jocks shoved and pushed each other, some clinging to their girlfriends waists and kissing them on the cheek, some just hanging around with nothing better to do. The brightly colored hair teenagers who wore all black and had rings and sticks and such pierced through their nostrils or lips laughed and slung their arms around each other, walking to their respective classes. The boys wearing glasses and Star Wars T-shirts argued about something having to do with Star Trek, Castiel wasn't sure, he'd learned to tune most people out a long time ago. But it was hard to tune them all out at once. Should he ignore the football players today? Or maybe the Star Wars/Trek obsessed boys - and girl?

...

He walked into his Algebra class in just under a minute before the bell rung. Usually he got there sooner, but the group of boys in front of his locker prevented him from getting his book, and Castiel wasn't about to interrupt their oh-so important conversation about Lucas' new haircut or Jake's weight lifting record. Lucas just got his hair bleached and trimmed, and Jake couldn't bench press more than Dylan, he'd learned. He waited for at least a good four and a half minutes for them to disperse, so he got the opportunity to hear a few things.

Sitting down in his seat near the front of the classroom, he unzipped his backpack and took out his red pen. Today was an easy day, they were just grading tests. The teacher walked around and stopped in front of Castiel, setting down a stack of papers before moving on to the next row. He took one at random and passed the rest back. He picked up his pen and popped the cap off of it, looking down at the name on the test.

Dean Winchester

Just his luck.

The teacher went over each problem thoroughly, explaining the amount of points to give based on what the person put, and how to correct it. Castiel had a mini victory in his mind as he graded Dean's test, because if he couldn't be stronger than Dean, he sure could be smarter than him. Pretty much the whole time he graded the other boy's test, he was biting his lip to hold back his snickers. Only Dean could manage to get a nineteen percent on one of the easiest tests they'd taken all year, and he wasn't even in honors like Castiel was. Castiel pictured himself laughing at Dean to the boy's face, chastising him and telling him how bizarre it was that he managed to make it to the eleventh grade. Of course, these things would just remain in his head, he'd never have the courage to actually act on them. He rather enjoyed not having his ribs broken.

"Make sure you put corrected by at the bottom, then pass it up." The teacher instructed after everyone was done grading.

Castiel had a mini heart attack then. Dean's paper was covered in red marks and corrections, and if he knew Castiel had graded it, he'd surely beat the ever living shit out of him. Castiel was aware of the person sitting behind him nudging him with the papers and swallowed thickly, quickly writing his name at the bottom of Dean's paper before anyone could get annoyed. The teacher took it as he walked across the front of the room, along with the rest of the row's. Good thing Dean wasn't getting his test back until Friday, that way maybe Castiel could make it out of a beating and by Monday, Dean will have forgotten about it completely. Right?

...

Castiel walked home, since his father was at work. He didn't have any other way to get home, he lived too close to the school to be bussed, his brother was somewhere in Colorado at some generic community college, and his mother was off somewhere on the West coast. It was just him and his father these days, his mother, Naomi, had left when he was younger, but his father had never told him why, and she hadn't tried to contact him. He blamed himself seen it first happened, but his father assured him that it wasn't his fault. He had said that he was still their perfect angel and they'd both always love him.

He shuddered and shook the words from his mind. He had come to hate being called that, it was ruined for him.

Bartholomew always claimed that Castiel wouldn't understand why she left. He claimed it was a grown up thing, but even now that Castiel was seventeen - barely seventeen, but still seventeen - and basically an adult, considering he was more mature than most adults he knew, Bartholomew still wouldn't tell him. It wasn't fair. He deserved to know if his mother hated him too. Gabriel, his older brother, didn't even know. He never got to find out, not that he cared really. Naomi was always disapproving of his choices. When he dyed his hair pink during his phase in ninth grade, she sprayed him with the hose and wouldn't let him come inside until all of it was out. She wasn't his favorite person.

Castiel used to call Gabriel each day when the older Novak first left for college four years ago. But, as the years went by, Gabriel had more and more important things to do, whether it be hanging out with his girlfriend Kali or do anything but study for his tests, the less they talked. They'd become strangers before Castiel went into the tenth grade and he's gotten maybe two or three texts since then. He didn't blame Gabriel though, he had a life, and he didn't need to be dragged down by Castiel. Castiel accepted that he was left alone with just his father.

Once Castiel was home, he unlocked his door and stepped inside. Bartholomew worked until at least nine tonight so Castiel had until then to finish his homework and chores. He got to work on them immediately, cleaning the bathrooms in the house and straightening up the living rooms. When he was finished, he grabbed and apple and headed up to his room, where he finished his homework - which took him a good two hours and probably made him pull out about a third of his hair - and afterwards, relaxed. He laid back on his bed, closing his eyes and sighing. He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, his father was shaking him slightly and telling him to change into his pajamas. Castiel obeyed, sitting up and checking the time on his phone, Bartholomew must have just gotten home. He changed into his cotton-soft pants, trying to ignore the fact that his father was watching, and laid back on his bed.

"Goodnight Castiel."

"Goodnight Dad."

Bartholomew clicked his tongue a few times.

"What did I say to call me when we're alone?"

There was a pause and Castiel looked at where his father stood, lingering in the doorway.

"Good-goodnight...Daddy." He said, not meeting the man's eyes.

Bartholomew smiled and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://sinthusiast.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Thursday was a good day. He had only been pushed into the lockers twice and a teacher even caught Alastair, one of Dean's friends, right as he was about to hit Castiel. The other boy left with a grumble and a glare when the teacher ordered him to get to class, and Castiel adverted his eyes. He saw Dean a couple of times in the halls during the day, but Dean didn't bother him. He thought that was because of two reasons. Either Dean was bored of messing with Castiel - which, oddly enough, made Castiel feel a twinge of sadness - or the blonde boy was too busy with his own life and friends to take time to torture Castiel. Whichever the reason, Castiel was happy, relieved, and bruise free by the end of the day. He'd gotten home safely and was now eating dinner, mentally preparing himself for the weekend. Thursday was a good day.

He was dreading the upcoming weekend though. A whole two days alone at home with just his father scared him - no, it downright terrified him. It always did. The same thoughts ran through his mind at the end of each week, but most days, he tried to stay positive. Because summer was over and now Bartholomew only had limited access to Castiel, and Castiel couldn't be happier. How he managed to stay positive in his situation was beyond him.

He bounced his leg nervously under the dinner table as he sat, fork in his hand. His father sat across from him, focusing more on his food than Castiel, thankfully. They sat in silence as they ate, as usual. Bartholomew would occasionally make small talk, such as asking Castiel how his day went or go on about his own day. Castiel nodded along, pretending to listen. It was hard to even just listen to Bartholomew's voice, it sent chills down Castiel's spine whenever the man would lower his voice or ask Castiel a question, raising an eyebrow quizzically at him. Castiel had learned to answer quickly and eloquently.

"How is school going?" Bartholomew asked suddenly, startling Castiel out of his thoughts.

Castiel put on a convincing smile that didn't reach his eyes and shrugged.

"Well, I suppose."

Bartholomew nodded solemnly, looking back down at his plate and continuing on with his meal.

"I..." He cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn't waver. "I got a ninety-three on...on my Algebra test." Castiel spoke up after a while, easing the silent tension.

Bartholomew looked up again and smiled, a smile that showed pride in the boy, as if he was a show dog of some sort.

"That's good Castiel, keep that up and Princeton will certainly accept you, if they don't, I'll have to have a talk with them." he praised.

They continued on with their meal in silence. Unnerving silence.

...

"You've gotta be shitting me." Alastair chuckled breathlessly, shoving Dean's shoulder.

Dean laughed along with his friend, taking a drag of the shared blunt between his index and middle finger and coughing slightly. He was still fairly new to smoking weed, but he liked it, it helped ease his nerves when nothing else could. It helped him forget about John, about his crap grades, about the fact that he fucking hated Alastair. At this point, the only reason he still hung out with the other boy is because they have all the same friends, and also maybe because he has some damn good weed. Dean wouldn't know the first place to get drugs in this town.

"Don't hog it now, c'mon." Gordon said, snatching the small, white, twirled paper from Dean's hand.

"Are you sure you didn't get an STD? I heard Talbot's a slut."

"Well, last time I checked, my dick is disease free." Dean said, shrugging. "You free to check it n' see for yourself." He laughed, the others joining in, except for Alastair.

Alastair shoved him and rolled his eyes, making a disgusted face.

"Don't go fag on us now, Alastair." Crowley added, blowing smoke into the frustrated boy's face.

"Fuck you."

"I'm sure you would."

Dean stood up just as Alastair did. Alastair shoved Crowley and the heavier set boy stumbled back a few inches, but kept his balance. Dean put a hand on Alastair's chest to stop him as he lunged again at a smirking Crowley, his face red with either embarrassment or anger, or both. He huffed and grabbed the joint, looking out at the road as he drew in a breath of it, then handed it to Dean and sat back down. Dean sat next to him and silence took over for a few seconds.

"Speaking of fags, you guys see Novak crying the other day?" Gordon asked, breaking the silence.

Dean scoffed and nodded.

"God, the dude can't take a joke." He said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I'm not sure if calling him a 'cocksucking assfucker' is a joke." Crowley said, looking at Dean with one eyebrow raised.

"It is, because there's no way he's the one doing the fucking. He probably takes it up the ass." Dean said bitterly.

As if Novak could even figure out how to fuck someone, he's probably never even seen a dick other than his own, let alone a vagina. 

"The blunt's dead." Gordon said as he tossed it on the ground and stepped on it.

"Oh yeah, Novak takes it hardcore for sure. Remember that day last semester when he was limping?" Alastair joked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Dean groaned in disgust. Castiel would be the bitch in a relationship, it's a fitting role for him since he's so submissive. All he ever does is whine and whimper when Dean and the others corner him. He doesn't fight back, he doesn't tell anyone what happened the next day when he shows up with bruises. He's just a little bitch who takes everything Dean and the others give him.

Pathetic.

Dean remembers that day, it was the day after one of the times just Dean and Alastair had gotten to the raven-haired boy. They beat him pretty bad, but they didn't fuck with his legs or anything that would have made him limp. Dean pushed him down and Alastair kicked his stomach. At some point, Dean heard a crack and Castiel was suddenly clutching his side. He stopped Alastair just when he was about to kick him again, explaining that if they got pinned for Castiel's broken ribs, they'd go to jail. Alastair was easy to trick. It's not like Dean cared what happened to Castiel or anything, he just didn't need some little snitch ratting him out and getting him a criminal record. 

He definitely didn't feel a twinge of guilt when he and Alastair were walking away, leaving Castiel whimpering and panting on the ground. He definitely didn't feel a twinge of guilt when he glanced back and saw Castiel struggling to get up, clutching his shirt where Alastair kicked him and balancing himself on one shaky arm. 

Well, maybe just a twinge.

...

Water poured down on Castiel's back as he stood in the shower. Every couple of seconds, he let his anxiety get the best of him and looked at the door, making sure the handle was still locked. He returned to his shower after checking for the tenth time in the past six minutes, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He wrapped his arms around himself, hot water calming him down and effectively soothing his mind. Considering he was alone most of the time here, Castiel considered this his second safest place to be, the first being in his mind, barely.

Most days, his mind was filled with memories of Dean's boot coming down onto his stomach over and over again, or feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness, or thoughts of what death offered him if he had the courage to actually kill himself. 

Some days though, he could simply tune everything out and listen to soft, calm music in his head. He did this slot, whenever he wasn't doing anything else, he was thinking. He was thinking about how he would off himself, if he ever got the chance or courage to. His predicted way was that he'd go down painlessly, because even seconds before his death, he'd be a wuss. 

Castiel took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking at the wall for a moment before pressing his back against it and sliding down the length of it until he was seated on the ground, water still pelting down on him. He rested his chin on the tops of his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, hugging them close to his chest. He closed his eyes again and let put a shuddering breath, mind drifting off to his soft music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://sinthusiast.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Sometime in the afternoon on the following Saturday, Castiel dropped a plate while he was doing the dishes. He was washing the plates and cups and placing them into their respective places on the rack in the dishwasher when one slipped out of his hands and landed centimeters from his foot. He flinched, but quickly glanced to the doorway. He had to clean it up. It wasn't a particularly expensive plate, nothing that couldn't be replaced, but it set off Bartholomew's rage nonetheless.

Castiel desperately tried to sweep up the shards of broken glass before his father came downstairs, clinging onto to some hope that Bartholomew hadn't heard the sound of it shattering. He didn't have very much hope, since it was probably impossible to not hear it. He grabbed the broom by the fridge and quickly sweeped the shards into the dust pan. His hand shook as he picked up the small plastic pan and dumped the shards into the trash can, pushing some of the other trash on top of it to hide the evidence. When he turned around to look at the doorway, his father was standing in there, staring at Castiel.

"Did you drop a plate, Castiel?" he asked, his voice surprisingly, and unnervingly, calm.

Castiel didn't like to lie, it just made his punishment worse.

"I...y-yes, I did. I...I cleaned it-" he started, motioning to the trash can, his eyes wide with fear and throat tight as he swallowed the growing lump.

"But you dropped it?" Bartholomew interrupted, his voice more stern than before.

He moved away from the doorway, slowly making his way towards Castiel, taking short strides as he walked. Castiel would have moved, but he knew nothing good came out of resistance. Bartholomew would just make his punishment worse for him if he resisted. Bartholomew would make his punishment worse for any reason at all, if he saw fit. Sometimes, just for the Hell of it, he'd worsen Castiel's punishment anyways.

So he stood frozen in one spot, trembling when Bartholomew was close enough that he could see the underlying anger in the man's eyes. The man gripped Castiel's chin, squishing his cheeks and wrenching his head so he was forced to meet his eyes. Castiel whimpered quietly, but swallowed it down to seem less scared than he really was.

"Did. You. Break. That. Plate?" He asked slowly, clenching his jaw, clearly out of patience for Castiel.

"Y-yes, I...I did. I'm...I-I'm sorry." Castiel said, his voice barely audible, even to his own ears.

He could feel Bartholomew's breath on his face, the angle the man had his head tilted at just in the line of his nose, from where he was breathing deeply. He was obviously annoyed. He nodded and flickered his eyes over Castiel's face, gaze lingering on the tears already forming in the boy's light blue eyes, stinging his eyes and beginning to blur his vision. Castiel shivered, swallowing a dry lump in his throat as his father inspected him. He braced himself for the impact before it even came, but he still yelped in pain when it did.

His jaw was released, but he wasn't allowed any time to recover from it before Bartholomew's hand came down across his cheek. His head whipped to the side from the force of the abuse and and brought his hand up to cover it. In a matter of seconds, he felt a hand tangle in his hair, gripping a good patch of it and yanking it to the side. He was forced to look into the older man's eyes, which were dark and narrowed down at the younger boy. They stood silently for a moment, but it seemed like an eternity to Castiel. His cheek throbbed, he felt tears run down his cheeks from the slap, and he was trembling in fear.

"How are you going to pay for that? Hm?" Bartholomew asked finally, breaking the silence. "Tell me exactly how."

Castiel knew from the connotations from Bartholomew's voice what he meant, and Castiel sniffled. He blinked back the tears clouding his vision, looking away in shame. He knew what came next. He didn't like it, but he didn't really have a choice in it. The grip in his hair tightened and  made him speak finally, his voice breaking.

"A-anything..."

Bartholomew glared still, and Castiel knew why.

"Any...anything, Daddy."

Without another word, or even a smile, Bartholomew grabbed Castiel's upper arm and dragged him away from the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the longest hall to his bedroom. He opened the doors and flung Castiel inside, closing and locking them behind him. Castiel stumbled but managed to stay on his feet, swallowing thickly and wiping his wet cheeks with the back of his hands. He looked at his father and wiped his nose. Bartholomew gave his son a look, and Castiel was nodding, unbuttoning his shirt. He undressed completely, staring at the ground instead of meeting his father's eyes.

"I want you on your stomach." Bartholomew said simply, and Castiel obeyed.

Castiel wiped his eyes again before climbing on the large bed and laying on his stomach, closing his eyes and letting his head fall on the mattress, the right side of  his face against the sheets. He heard rustling after a moment, and then the bed dipped behind him.

...

Dean laid in his bed in his room. He could hear his father crying one room over and rolled his eyes. His father usually went through three stages when he was drunk; confusion, anger, and sadness. On some special occasions, he was just angry the whole time. It really didn't matter though, no matter what kind of drunk he was, he was an asshole. He'd throw empty - sometimes full - beer bottles at Dean and call him worthless, shove him and threaten him. He was a shit parent, and it was apparently Dean's fault. So almost every night, while his father got drunk, he'd play board games with Sam with the door locked. And if his father did manage to get past the door, Dean step in front of Sam to take whatever John had to dish out. Like Hell was he going to play a hand on Sam.

"Dean?" Sam asked one night as they were playing YouTube videos on Dean's phone.

"Yeah Sammy?"

"We're not the only ones right?" 

Dean furrowed his eyebrows and sat up from the bed, watching as Sam did the same, setting the phone aside, video paused.

"What're you talkin' about?" he asked the younger boy, moving to sit across from Sam.

Sam looked down and pulled at a lose thread on his pant leg, sighing through his nostrils.

"Sometimes, I think about Dad, and how he is. Were not the only ones, are we? Other people have this problem too, right?" Sam asked.

Dean hadn't thought about that before. He usually only ever thought about his dad, and how much of an asshole he was. He knew that people all around the world had to go through the same thing, if not worse. He knew some people had both parents, who were both abusive, and he felt bad for them, because he couldn't imagine Mary ever laying a hand on dither one of them, if she were still alive.

"Uh yeah, I mean, it happens all around the world." Dean said, shrugging before flopping back down onto his bed.

He started to think about the people at school, the people like Crowley, who's dad left when he was young. People like that weird redheaded girl Charlie, who he didn't know but he's never actually seen her dad around before, he hasn't seen her mother either. People like Castiel, who probably have a perfect life. Castiel probably has a mom and a dad. Hell, his dad is rich as fuck and has been since old man Novak died a few years back. They live in a big house, it isn't a mansion but it isn't a shack like Dean has. Castiel's probably a spoiled brat, he deserves all the shit he gets. After all, he could hire a personal body guard if he wanted but the dude's such a pussy he's too afraid to tell anyone about Dean or the others in his group of friends.

Thinking about Castiel Novak and his perfect life made Dean angry, so he decided that he'd teach Castiel a lesson on Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://sinthusiast.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Castiel walked into school on Monday with new fingerprint shaped bruises on his thighs and hipbones.

Clips and memories of the events that occurred on Saturday - and part of Sunday since Bartholomew's football team had lost - flashed through his mind as he headed towards his French class, cleverly choosing to avoid the area where he knew Dean's friends would be hanging out, when they weren't behind the school getting high. He sat down in his desk, resting his arms on his desk and letting out a soft sigh. His behind and thighs were sore, Bartholomew wasn't merciful like usual, he was angry, he was rarely angry. Whenever he took Castiel, it was because he needed to relieve some stress or because he was drunk. He was only rough when he was angry really.

Castiel had come to terms with the fact that it was his fault after Bartholomew had been inside of him for at least an hour before he came and flung Castiel out into the hall, slamming the door. It was his fault, it had to have been. He dropped a plate, he made a mess and even though he cleaned it up, he should have known better, he should have been more careful. He had time to think about his actions while Bartholomew pinned him down onto the bed, shoving his face into the mattress and ignoring his whimpers and cries of pain. It was his fault for being ignorant and secretive.

On Sunday, it must have been his fault too. He was sitting in his room, finishing up his weekend homework, when he heard his father shout from downstairs. In a matter of seconds, Bartholomew swung his bedroom door open and grabbed Castiel, taking him haphazardly against the wall, covering Castiel's mouth to silence him. Afterwards, he left with a grumble back downstairs, not bothering to close Castiel's door or even chance a glance back as the crying boy hauled himself up from where he'd slumped helplessly to the floor.

He tried to push the thoughts, the memories, and the phantom pains away, but they just kept creeping into his mind and torturing him. Bartholomew's hands on him, whispering he deserved it, that he's worthless, that this is the only way anyone would ever want him. Every insult there was to think up, Bartholomew used to his advantage. That combined with the barely there lubricant - which was merely Bartholomew's saliva soaked and impatient fingers - had him crying silently, only bothering to wipe his eyes when tears blurred his vision. He closed his door quietly and clicked the lock, bundling himself up in his pajamas and sitting on the floor by his bed.

He stopped crying eventually.

Once he just couldn't physically cry anymore, he hugged his knees to his chest and stared at the wall. He rested his chin on his knee caps and stared at the white painted wall. His eyes stung from rubbing them so much and he had to sniffle every so often to keep the snot in his nose, every ten seconds, it seemed. Last night, like any other night, he'd hurt himself. He wanted to feel something other than dread or worthlessness, he wanted to feel pain, but not in the same way he felt it when Bartholomew used him. He wanted to feel adrenaline rush through his veins at the touch of a burning hot hair clip on his arm or the pinch of a blade. Which though, he couldn't choose. So he used both.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the bell ring, and kids started filing into the classroom. He scratched absentmindedly at his sleeve.

...

The library was closed during lunch, so he couldn't have the solitude he really needed today, after a quite stressful weekend. He ended up finding a nice, cozy spot underneath the stairs, away from the people standing and whooping and laughing. How he despised them, they were all so happy and normal and carefree, unlike himself. He sat down and kept his backpack on his lap, glancing around nervously every so often. What was he afraid of? Dean and his friends wouldn't get physical in the middle of the cafeteria, not while any of the staff could easily see any commotion and easily send him straight to the principal's office.

Of course, he couldn't avoid Dean forever. Friday, he got lucky enough to escape the group of boy's and make it home without any bruises to hide. He thought about this day over the weekend whenever he wasn't going anything else. He worried himself so much to the point where he'd thrown up into the toilet. His father tried to convince him to stay home, but Castiel would rather attempt an escape from the group than stay at home with his father all day. Today, he didn't have much hope in the same event happening, his life wasn't that good.

He couldn't help but look up when a pair of shoes stopped in front of him, a pair of black Vans, laced up tightly. He lifted his gaze slowly, sighing in relief when he saw Kevin Tran, and not Dean. Kevin was in his math class, and one of the few people that Castiel didn't dislike.

"Uh, hey." Kevin spoke, scratching the back of his neck.

The boy's hair was a mess, his eyes tired looking like he'd been up all night.

"H-hello." Castiel replied, swallowing thickly.

Why was he nervous? Kevin was nice, Kevin had bullies, just like Castiel. This had been the first time he had said a word to the dark-skinned boy and he stuttered like an idiot.

"You looked...kinda lonely. Want some company?" 

Castiel couldn't help the corners of his mouth tugging upwards into a small smile as he nodded. His suspicions of this being some sort of trick - which he chastised himself for thinking, honestly Castiel, Kevin was a good guy, not Dean - we're shot down almost as soon as they arose as Kevin took a seat beside him. He heard scandalous sounding whispers from a few feet away, a few girls whispered something about how Kevin had just commuted social suicide by sitting with Castiel. He suddenly felt bad for the boy, he was just going to ruin his life, just like he did everyone else's. He turned and was about to make some excuse about his he forgot to turn something in and had to leave immediately, when Kevin offered him a cookie.

The cookie looked lumpy and not at all like a cookie, but Castiel took it anyways, giving Kevin a weird look.

"My mom's on this weird organic food only diet or whatever and she's trying to impose it on me, it's not that bad tasting, but I'd rather have this bag of Dorito's honestly." He explained.

Castiel took a bite of the cookie and shrugged, he was right. It wasn't that bad.

"I've never seen you out here before, do you usually have first lunch?" Kevin asked, taking a quick drink of water from his container, then screwing the lid back on.

"Yes, I...I usually eat in um, in the library. It's...closed today."

Kevin nodded in understanding and smiled slightly at Castiel, jumping slightly out of nowhere and setting his water down, as if he was just realizing the fact that he'd never properly introduced himself.

"I'm Kevin Tran, by the way, sorry." he chuckled nervously, holding out his hand.

Castiel took Kevin's hand in his own hesitantly, shaking it and meeting the boy's dark brown eyes.

"I'm Castiel Novak."

"Like the angel?" Kevin asked, tilting his head.

Castiel's mother had an obsession with religion, and she went as far as to name her three sons after angels. Castiel had always hated his name, he felt like it was a personal insult. Michael and Gabriel were both named after archangels, and Castiel's as just...Cassiel revised. It just proved that he was the lesser important of the three, but he already knew that.

"Yes, my mother was very interested in religion and the archangels and such." he said, offering Kevin a chip, which he took gratefully.

Just like that, the sun shone on Castiel's life in a single ray, like a gift from God Himself. Kevin was a gift.

...

Castiel really didn't want to walk home today. He didn't want to go home to a 50/50 chance of an angry father - even though his father apologized to him this morning for being so rough - and he definitely didn't want to run into Dean or his friends, but he also didn't want to be alone for the next twenty minutes.

"Y'know, I might have gotten a nineteen on my math test, but I'm not stupid enough to walk home, unprotected, unlike you." a voice behind him laughed with amusement, a voice he couldn't forget if he tried.

"Too bad you're too stupid to get a ride home." Dean said, his hand on Castiel's shoulder, gripping the fabric of his sweater tightly.

He spun Castiel around and smirked down at the wide-eyed boy, the brilliant blue of his eyes flooding into Dean's vision like a river. He wasn't into him, but Castiel had some of the nicest eyes he'd ever seen. They were like shining sapphires, compared to his own dull, green ones. Castiel didn't find Dean's dull though. To nothing of either boy's knowledge, they both had an equal love for the other's eyes, but neither of them ever admitted it, nor ever would.

"I-I...I uh...h-have t-t-to g-"

"T-t-t-t-t-today junior!" Dean taunted, mocking Castiel's stutter.

Castiel stared at him dumbly for a moment, lips parted and cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the outright teasing. Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting for some sort of response, but found no sign of recognition in the searching blue eyes. Had this kid never seen a movie in his life?

"Adam Sandler?...Billy Madison? What, ever heard of this thing called comedy?" he asked, rolling his eyes in frustration.

Castiel looked away in embarrassment, glancing over Dean's shoulder to see that his usual monkeys weren't trailing him and honing in on the torment. But want exactly did that mean? Did Dean have something planned? Was he going to kill him? Castiel let his mind race and he started to tremble. Was Dean possible of murder? He was certainly possibly or torture, so what's murder to him, just a step farther? An 'accidental' blow to the head?

"Hey, I asked you a question smartass. Answer, y'know, like you always do in class." Dean's voice snapped, pushing Castiel's shoulder slightly, looking for some sort of reaction.

Castiel just needed to buy himself some time, some time to think of a better plan than running, because he knew damn well he couldn't outrun Dean Winchester. No one could. There was a reason he was the best quarterback in the district.

"Wh-where's y-your...your group?" he managed to say without too much pausing.

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly down at Castiel.

"Decided to have you to myself today, why? Oh, oh sorry sweetheart, my friends and I ain't into orgies." Dean chuckled bitterly, cracking his knuckles, they made a popping sound that made Castiel jump and tremble in fear.

So he couldn't run, he couldn't fight, he couldn't fake a fainting spell because honestly, Dean wouldn't just kick him while he's down, figuratively and literally. What he could do was talk to him, or try to, up until Dean got fed up with him and started throwing punches. Talking seemed good, it would at least give him time to think of something else. He was smart, he could think of something else.

"Wh-why? Why m-me?"

He knew the question was stupid. He knew it was a cliche thing to ask right before getting the crap beat out of him. It's what all the victims asked in the movies right before they were killed. But by the look on Dean's face, the one that showed that he was thinking, it would do for now. Dean just looked stunned for a minute, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he parted his lips to speak, but closed them again. Castiel waited anxiously for an answer, hoping the question wouldn't just be ignored in favor of violence.

"Because," Dean grabbed Castiel's collar and shoved him up against a tree, making him drop his phone and book. "Because I can, because you're a little pussy ass bitch who doesn't fight back, because it's probably the highlight of your month honestly, take your pick. But most of all, because it's so...much...fun."

Dean smirked at him.

"It's fun 'cause I get to hear you beg, like a bitch. I get to hear you beg me to stop. 'P-p-please d-don't, don't h-hurt me Dean! I-I'm sorry, l-leave me alone!'" Dean mocked, chuckling darkly. "God, you are so fucking pathetic."

Even though Castiel knew what Dean was saying wasn't a lie, it still hurt to hear it.

"See this? This is why no one likes you, not me, not anyone at school, fuck, I bet your parents hate you too." Dean taunted, removing his hands from Castiel's collar and stepping back slightly.

Castiel felt tears sting behind his eyes and he sniffled, hearing Dean laugh from in front of him.

"Yeah, go on and cry, faggot." Dean spat.

Before Castiel knew what was happening, Dean had landed a blow across his face that had him stumbling to the side. He tripped over his own feet and whimpered as he hit the ground.

"S'that what you sound like when you get a cock up your ass?" Dean asked, his words laced with venom, like Castiel was personally offending him just by breathing.

Dean imitated the whimper and went to kick Castiel's gut, but stopped short. Seeing the boy flinch was just as good. He looked at the now crying boy on the ground and and shook his head, spitting before he turned and walked off. That felt good, it felt good to get his anger out. Castiel deserved it anyways, if he was smart, he would have taken the bus home or something. He was asking to get beaten.

Dean walked off to the parking lot, hearing his phone ringing just as he got into the Impala.

"Hey Sammy...yeah I'm comin' right now, I just had to set somethin' straight. Yeah, on my way." He said into he phone before hanging up and starting the car.

He drove past where he saw Castiel gathering his things and standing up, laughing as he threw a half full McDonald's soda from the window. It hit Castiel's shoulder and basically exploded, soaking his expensive looking clothing.

Stupid fucking rich kid could just buy more anyways, then get on with his perfect, white picket fence life. Asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://sinthusiast.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic self-harm, homophobic slurs, and humiliation. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Castiel felt his eyes prickle with tears as he walked - trudged, really - home from where Dean had stopped him on his way home. He was sore and his shirt was soaked with soda, the fabric starting to stick to his shoulder underneath. He sniffled and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his chest quivering with his ragged breathing. He wasn't crying because of the shirt, he had many more, more than he knew what to do with. He was crying because, well, there wasn't really one thing he could blame it on. It wasn't just Dean's treatment of him, or just his father's treatment of him, or his overall horrible life.

There was that feeling again.

That feeling of dread and abandonment.

He didn't know what he preferred anymore, being alone and away from his father, or having someone - anyone, really - with him, caring for him, even if it was in his father's twisted way. He wiped a falling tear from his cheek as he opened the door to his house, slamming it behind him and hearing the foundation shake the slightest bit. He dropped his backpack and headed upstairs, ignoring the calls from his father's housekeeper, her shouts in Portuguese lost in translation as he locked himself in his room. He heard her grumble and eventually just give up and probably continue cleaning.

He doesn't need sympathy.

He pulled his sticky sweater off and tossed it at the wall, sniffling and blinking away the tears pooling in his eyes. He took in a shaky breath, looking down at his bare chest and arms, shivering at the sight of the marks littering his inner forearms. There were somewhat healed over, white burn marks. They were in varying shapes, from a circular shape, the back of a spoon, to a spare hair clip he'd found lying around. Among the burns were also horizontal cuts, some white and healed over like the burns, some fresh and red and irritated. He ran his thumb over them and sniffled.

He scrambled over his bed to sit on the floor by his bedside nightstand, back pressed to the frame of his bed. He opened the drawer and peered inside, pulling out the lighter and hair clip. The metal part of the hair clip was black from being heated up so many time. He flicked the lighter to life and watched the small fire tremble for a moment before he held the clip over it, his hand shaking. He hissed when he pressed the metal to his arm, over one of the previously healed marks. He looked away and screwed his eyes shut as his skin burned. When he pulled it away, he looked down. 

At first, there was nothing. Then, gradually, the skin started to blister up and fade into a pinkish color. His arm trembled violently as he looked down at the mark. He shoved the clip and lighter back into his bedside drawer and slammed it closed. One tear slipped from his eyes and slid down is cheek, then another, then another. Soon enough, he was trembling and crying into his hands.

It was just another day at the Novak house.

...

Dean waited for Castiel the next day, leaning against the boy's locker and smirking, his arms crossed. He'd had so much fun yesterday, putting Castiel in his place. He'd thought he'd make the little queer cry again today, since it really wasn't that hard. He looked around every couple of minutes, looking for Castiel. Dean's searching green eyes soon landed on a mop of black hair in a stupid blue, expensive looking sweater. He'd have to ruin that one too, he reminded himself. Castiel could just buy another one anyways.

"Tell me you watched Billy Madison." he said as Castiel came closer, noticing how terrified the boy looked.

Castiel shook his head timidly, keeping his eyes cast downward. Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, pushing himself away from the lockers so Castiel could get to his. 

"Listen, I need your help."

Castiel looked at Dean warily, slowly opening his locker, careful to keep his fingers away from the door, in case Dean decided to slam it closed.

"My gym locker won't open even though I put the fuckin' combo in. Open it for me." Dean demanded, leaning his shoulder against the lockers and looking over at Castiel.

Castiel nodded slightly, not meeting Dean's eyes and not saying anything. (Was he mute all of a sudden now? Because it's not like Dean's ever made fun of his voice, just his smile, and his laugh, and the way his eyes crinkled up when he did either of the things, when he did do them rarely, Dean's teasing only aided in suppressing those actions further). He slowly put his calculus book in his locker, his hands trembling in fear. Why hadn't Dean tried anything yet? Was he waiting? Where were the others?

"C'mon then Cas." Dean said, earning a bewildered look from those big, stupid, blue eyes.

He'd never called him Cas to his face before. He'd only done it when he was talking about him to his friends. 

Dean had to admit, Castiel had some pretty eyes. Boys aren't pretty, not usually anyways, but Castiel was admittedly pretty. With his big, blue, wide-blown ninety percent of the time, innocent eyes, his disheveled dark brown hair, his fucking chapped lips; like seriously, has this dude never heard of ChapStick? Dean wasn't into guys, and he'd never admit it out loud, but if Castiel was a girl, he would have fucked him (her?) the first chance he got.

Dean walked down the hall, pushing past people as Castiel followed behind him, his arms crossed over his chest almost protectively. It was understandable. He pushed open the doors to the locker room, which was strangly quiet and deserted. He walked over to his locker, towards the end of the third row, and stopped, yanking at his lock. He looked back at Castiel, who was watching him with wary eyes.

"I...I need y-your combination." Castiel spoke quietly.

"Nineteen, twenty one, o'four." Dean said simply, stepping back to watch as Castiel sat on the bench in front of his locker, his long, slender fingers working the lock. 

Dean took a moment to admire Castiel's concentrated face, how he darted his tongue out, breathed slowly through his nostrils and focused his pupils on the numbers. Dean wet his lips gently before looking to his left, glancing at his friend hiding behind the shower wall. He nodded slightly, and his friend -well, not really friend, since it was Alastair - rose, along with three others. The four boys slowly walked over, and poor Castiel didn't even have time to look up before he was yanked up by his collar. Castiel yelped as he was thrown against the lockers, his back colliding with the cold metal. His lip quivered as he took in the sight - Dean, Alastair, Crowley, Gordon, and Zachariah - the usual people he saw in his nightmares.

Was this a nightmare?

He pressed his thumb against his inner forearm, digging it into the burn mark. It wasn't a nightmare.

"Undress him." Alistair said, pulling his backpack away from Castiel.

Fear, no, not fear, terror flashed across Castiel's face.

"Ain't like that sweetheart, even if one of us were queer, no one would want your ass." Dean spoke bitterly.

Castiel glanced at Dean, the look of betrayal - and fear, obviously - in his eyes. He kept his gaze locked with Dean until Gordon and Zach grabbed his arms, yanking him away from the lockers. Crowley stepped forward and yanked the boy's sweater apart, buttons tearing off of the fabric and clattering to the floor. Castiel gasped and fought against the arms holding him, to the most extent possible, for a noodle armed wimp like him. 

"Dean, get the dress." Alastair directed, pointing to his gym locker.

Dean rummaged through Alastair's locker before pulling out a long, pastel pink prom dress. Castiel's eyes widened impossibly more at the sight of the dress, shaking his head violently.

"Please, n-no." he begged, his voice panicked and weak.

Gordon and Zach released their grip on Castiel so Crowley could pull his sweater off, which elicited loud protests from Castiel. It was only a sweater, what was his deal? They hadn't even got it off yet and he was crying and begging. At some point, Dean was going to get tired of Castiel's preemptive begging.

"No, no, no, please!" he shouted, fighting as Crowley yanked the fabric off.

Dean's eyes went wide, along with Crowley's. Green eyes danced over the scars and white burns on Castiel's forearm, some old, some new. One noticeably pink mark, in the shape of a hair clip or something, was blistered and irritated. There were horizontal cuts all over too, some overlapping. There were some white, some red, just like with the burns. The locker room was silent.

"Are you guys seriously shocked?" Alastair asked, cocking an eyebrow and scoffing.

Castiel winced and looked away when Alastair grabbed his arm and shook his arm in the general direction of where Dean stood.

"Oh no! The stupid faggot cuts himself! That's new!" He exclaimed sarcastically, shoving Castiel against the lockers.

Dena watched Castiel cradle his arm close and stare at the locker beside him. Gordon and Zach both swallowed thickly and shifted, clearly uncomfortable now. This was what Castiel feared, not just the fact that they'd found out, or even that Alastair had teased him about it, but now he'd gone and made everyone uncomfortable. He just couldn't help himself apparently.

"What? Just because this pussy hurts himself, we're not doing this anymore? I thought you guys were cool, tough." Alastair said.

"I am." Gordon said, taking a deep breath.

Gordon walked closer to Castiel, and Dean caught the slightly apologetic look that flashed over the boy's face as he aided Alastair in undressing him the rest of the way. Zach joined in after a while too and they pulled the dress over Castiel's head. He'd stop fighting once his sweater was off. Fighting wouldn't help in any way.

"Who knew you'd actually get dick?" Gordon had said, out of the blue.

Dean looked at where everyone else's gaze was now focused, another part of Castiel's body was bruised. His hips were littered in dark fingerprint shaped bruises, some yellow, some purple. Castiel looked even more mortified and embarrassed by these than he did the marks on his arms. 

"Dean, Crowley, help us get him outside." Alastair ordered, looking back at the two.

Crowley looked over at Dean, raising an eyebrow. Dean just stammered, looming for an excuse maybe? An apology? But to who? 

"I won't help if he's hurting himself, I won't be charged in aiding his suicide." Crowley said coldly, but Dean saw the look of remorse in his eyes.

Crowley turned and walked out, leaving Dean to find his own way out of the situation. Alastair scoffed and grabbed Castiel's arm, yanking him forward, the dress swooshing at the movement.

"You gonna help? Or are you a pussy faggot too?"

Dean clenched his jaw and took a deep breath before slamming the doors open. He watched as Alastair and the others dragged Castiel out, seeing the boy trip up on the skirt of the dress a few times as they led him out to the front of the school. They stopped in front of the flagpole.

"Pink's a good color on you Cas." Alastair purred mockingly, tossing the skirt and watching it flail in the wind before settling again.

Castiel whimpered as Gordon and Zach slammed his back against the flagpole, holding his arms so that he couldn't get away, even if he tried. Dean watched. Castiel wasn't even fighting anymore, he'd given up. He was just letting Alastair and the other do what they wanted. Dean found himself rooting for Castiel all of a sudden, like he was the tragic hero in a movie about to be killed by the villain, except Castiel wasn't going to break free and take them down.

"Rope." Alistair demanded.

Zach opened his backpack and pulled out a thick rope, handing it to Alistair. Dean followed behind them blindly, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, watching the scene with a hard set jaw. Alistair tied the pliant boy to the flagpole and stood back, admiring his work. Dean could hardly bear to look at the sight. Castiel looked broken.

"Now you look like the fairy you are. Just...one more detail." Alastair mused, smirking as he grabbed Zach's bag.

"Dude, isn't this enough? What else could you-" Dean started, stopping short when Alistair pulled a large dildo from the bag.

"Alistair." Dean barked.

This was enough. Tying Castiel to a flagpole in a dress was enough, why did they want to shove a fake dick down his throat too?

"What? He'll love it." Alistair shrugged, dropping the bag and advancing towards the helpless boy.

Dean almost stepped forward and rammed the thing down Alastair's throat instead, but stopped himself. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. What made him care? It had to have been the guilt. He knew he was - part of - the reason for the scars on Castiel's arms. That's probably why he felt the need to protect Castiel now, to prevent anymore scars. But he couldn't. He couldn't lose his reputation, not when he's worked so hard for it the past couple of years.

Castiel protested, but Alistair shoved the thing so far down Castiel's throat that Dean was afraid he was gonna choke. Castiel coughed and sputtered, shaking his head as he tried to spit the thing out, but was unsuccessful. Alistar laughed alongside Gordon and Zach, each of them doubling over and laughing their guts out. Dean felt sick.

"Perfect." Alistair mused in between laughs.

Dean looked at Castiel, who squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his cheeks flushed red and lips stretched around the synthetic dick.  Dean saw the tears running down Castiel's cheeks, his chest heaving as he cried. 

That was when Dean realized he was going to Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://sinthusiast.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

As if on cue, it started to rain.

Once the boys had left, laughing and walking to the doors of the school so they could get to their classes, rain started to pour down like an unfortunate coincidence. He shuddered when he remembered their laughter, their insults, their cruelty. He had closed his eyes, so he didn't see the way Dean's concerned green eyes lingered on him before he headed inside, his mind heavy with guilt. Although, he was sure that if he had seen it, he would have just hated Dean more, because whatever the look would mean to Dean, would always mean pity to Castiel.

He didn't know what came over him, but he just stopped. He gave up. He ceased the fighting and wriggling against the rope. He stopped trying to get free. He just stopped caring altogether. He just stopped. He stood limp against the flag pole, the only thing holding his body up on his numb legs being the rope tying him to the cold metal. His head was hung low as droplets of rain soaked into his hair, dripping from the tip of his nose and the ends of the dark hair. He was shivering, goosebumps having rise to and remained on his skin. 

He didn't know what was worse. Was it the pastel pink dress he was currently dressed in? Was it the toy shoved in his mouth, blocking that option of breathing so he had to do so through his nostrils? Was it the fact that he couldn't feel his fingers in the cold? Was it the fact that this was still better than going home?

"Castiel!" he heard someone shout.

Castiel turned his head, too cold and weak to actually lift it up, no matter how much his neck was hurting. He felt his cheeks heat up significantly, feeling like they were burning in contrast to the cold ran and wind numbing his face. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. It wasn't as if he had a choice though.

Thank God for Kevin Tran.

Kevin was running over, hoodie cast over his head to protect his hair from the rain. Castiel envied him, and his hoodie, it looked so warm.

"Castiel, oh my God, what happened?" The olive skinned boy asked, looking up at Castiel, eyes wide.

Kevin had a disgusted look face as he pulled the toy from Castiel's mouth, tossing it to the ground and wiping his hand on his pants afterwards. He quickly walked behind Castiel and untied the rope holding him up, allowing Castiel to fall to the ground. Castiel whimpered when his knees hit the ground, but managed to push himself up slightly, his arms shaking. Kevin aided him, throwing an arm around Castiel's shoulders and helping him stand. He waited for an answer, but didn't receive one. He got the hint when he saw tears forming in Castiel's eyes. He dropped the subject for the time being and nodded, mainly to himself since Castiel refused to lift his head to look at him.

"It's raining." Castiel said plainly, his voice hoarse.

"Obviously."

Kevin dragged him away from the pole with a groan and helped Castiel towards the school, but Castiel refused to go in. He was still wearing the dress and he really didn't need to give anyone another reason to torture him. Kevin instead helped him to his - or rather, his mom's - car. He helped Castiel into the passenger seat then darted around the car, quickly enclosing himself in the small area.

"Heater?" he asked.

Castiel nodded and Kevin shoved the keys in the ignition hastily, turning on the engine and cranking up the heater about as high as it could go. Castiel sat silently, shivering from the cold.

"I've uh...got some extra clothes? If you want?" Kevin asked, offering Castiel a small smile.

Castiel nodded greatfully. A stack of clothes were handed to him the next moment, Kevin had rummaged through the back seat to find them.

"Someone always manages to 'accidently' dump food on me during lunch, so I bring these just in case." he said as Castiel unfolded the clothing.

Kevin looked out his window, granting Castiel privacy to change. Castiel let out a shuddering breath and peeled off the cold, sopping wet dress that had stuck to his skin. He rolled down the window and tossed the retched thing outside. He then rolled the window back up so the heat would stay inside the car and shuffled to pull the sweatshirt over his head. His boxers were wet, but Kevin didn't have an extra pair. He glanced at Kevin, who was still looking away, and pulled off his boxers, quickly pulling on the dark blue jeans and sipping them up. The clothes were warm, and he couldn't help but sigh at the feeling of being somewhat dry.

He crossed his legs over on top of each other in his lap, like he remembered doing in kindergarten. The position covered his bare feet, and immediately started warming them. He glanced over at Kevin, his eyes darting over the tanned boy's features. He was truly lucky to have made friends with Kevin. If he hadn't, he'd still be tied to that pole, shivering and sobbing until he was found.

"Thank you." he said, his voice small and timid in the silence of the car.

Kevin turned his head, satisfied that Castiel looked warm and comfortable, under the circumstances, at least.

"No problem." Kevin said, shrugging one shoulder.

It wasn't that big of a deal really, he was just helping out a friend. A friend that he would be sitting alone with everyday without. 

"Do...do you wanna tell me what...what happened?" Kevin asked cautiously, turning his body to face Castiel.

Castiel sighed, looking down at his hands seated in his lap. He blinked back tears, wondering what he had done to deserve what happened to him today. They came out of nowhere, for no reason. Maybe not for no reason, maybe he deserved what happened. He deserved it for thinking Dean was actually genuinely being nice to him. Since when has Dean Winchester ever wanted to talk to Castiel other than when he's throwing insults at him, as well as punches and kicks?

"They...they tricked me." he started slowly, fiddling with his fingers. "He - Dean, Dean Winchester - he w-wanted my help. I should...have known..." he trailed off, disappointed in himself.

"What did he do?"

"He and h-his friends...they cornered me in the locker room and...a-and forced me to wear the dress. Th-they tied me to the pole and...and they stuck th-that in my mouth." he explained.

Kevin nodded, gripping the steering wheel tightly. It was times like these that he wished he could be a better friend. He wished he was strong. He wished he was courageous. He wasn't.

"I'm so sorry, dude." Kevin said. "God, they're such asshats."

Castiel nodded, combing a hand through his wet hair, tugging when it got caught.

"Do you um...do you m-mind taking me home?" he asked, biting his lip.

Castiel didn't want to be here anymore, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah...yeah, no...no problem."

...

Dean sat in his room, ear buds in and some song that was sure to bust his ear drums out blasting through them. Sam was off in his room, doing homework, unless he had finished already. He couldn't get the look on Castiel's face out of his mind. The look of betrayal on his face when he realized he had been tricked. The look of humiliation on his face when Alistair was laughing at his scars. The look of complete and utter submission as he accepted what Alistair - what Dean - had done to him.

All of it haunted him.

He replayed the scenario over and over again in his mind, the tricking, the undressing, the tying, and the abandonment. Fuck. Dean knew he was fucked up but not this fucked up. He just let his friends completely fucking torment Castiel, and Castiel didn't even try to fight back. Why the hell didn't he fight back? Yeah, he's weak, but he could have screamed or something.

Dean shook his head. Castiel must have wanted them to torment him. It's probably the highlight of his day whenever Dean and the others mess with him. Castiel had no life, he probably likes the attention. He must like it, because it could have screamed. He should have screamed. Why didn't he scream? Why didn't he punch anyone? Dean wished now that Castiel had punched him. He would have deserved it. But no, Castiel just took it all. 

It wasn't Dean's fault that Castiel was fucked up. Dean didn't tell Castiel to cut himself. Dean didn't tell Castiel to burn himself. Castiel did that all to himself, it was completely his choice, his idea, his will. Why did Dean still feel like shit then?

"Dean?"

Sam opened the door and looked at Dean, who removed his ear buds and sat up, leaning against his headboard. He shoved his phone into his jeans pocket and nodded to Sam. Sam walked in and closed the door behind him carefully, making sure he didn't wake John.

"What's up Sammy?" he asked, trying to push the thoughts of Castiel out of his mind, because Sam needed him.

"I'm hungry." Sam said with pleading eyes, working Dean over.

Dean rolled his eyes, groaning and standing up.

"Alright, but it's Mac and Cheese a la mode tonight." he said with a cheesy French accent, pushing Sam in the shoulder playfully.

"Do you even know what a la mode means?" Sam asked, smiling.

Dean thought for a second, then put his hand over Sam's face and pushed him back as he opened the door and walked out. Sam followed behind him and closed the door quietly. 

"Shut up, you smartass." Dean muttered, walking into the small kitchen.

Sam seated himself on the island, sticking his tongue out at his older brother.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam was right, Dean didn't know what a la mode was. He ended looking it up on his phone when he didn't think Sam was looking, but he was.

"It means it's served with ice cream."

"Shut up." Dean grumbled, shoving his phone in his back pocket.

Although it sounded disgusting, Dean didn't mind having a little ice cream with his Mac and Cheese, it wasn't half bad. He made sure it was chocolate, Sam's favorite.

"Can we go to Bobby's after dinner?" Sam asked, looking up from his plate at Dean.

"Did you finish your homework?"

"Of course I did. Did you?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean rolled his eyes and cleaned off his plate, rinsing it.

"We'll go after you finish eating." he said, purposefully avoiding Sam's question.

Sam smiled and ate his food, Mac and Cheese first, then the ice cream separately. Bobby's car yard was a few miles away, nothing Dean couldn't handle. He'd walk there with Sam almost every day when his dad would come home drunk, cleverly avoiding any unnecessary beatings. Dean slung his arm around Sam's shoulder and talked with him as they walked, mainly making fun of him for being so smart, but Sam knew how proud Dean was of him, even though he covered it up with insults and names.

"Theatre? No way!" Dean said, shaking his head.

"It's required in order to graduate Dean, you should take it next year before it's too late." Sam explained, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Man, you do not want to spend your freshman year next year stuck in a theatre class." Dean said, chuckling. "It's for nerds."

"Theatre people are cool, and they accept people for who they are, the ones in my middle school are at least."

Dean sighed and looked down at his little brother, about to say something else.

"Plus, all the hot girls take theatre." Sam said surprisingly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Dean smiled and whistled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well, I'm convinced."

Sam laughed and threw his head back, running a hand through his hair. Sam's hair was getting longer, but it was still manageable. What wasn't manageable was how fast he was growing. He was still in seventh grade and he was already hitting his growth spurt. He was already as tall as Dean's shoulder.

"You should join then." Sam said.

Dean shrugged and looked forward as they walked, not providing an answer. Sam frowned slightly but didn't suggest anything further. Once they got to Bobby's house, they were welcomed inside and Bobby ruffled Sam's hair on the way in. He grabbed Dean's shoulder and looked at him with wide eyes. 

"That kid's gettin' tall, he'll give you a run for your money." He said. 

"Tell me about it." Dean chuckled in response, closing the front door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://sinthusiast.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic self harm, skip over it if easily triggered.
> 
> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Castiel sat alone in his room after Kevin had dropped him off at his house and returned to the school. He had no reason to hide, after all, unlike Castiel. He wondered, would he ever dare to return to school after today? Sure, nobody had seen him, thanks to Kevin, but could he really face Dean and Alastair and the others after today? They had seen his scars, and by now had probably told at least half, if not the entire school. It wouldn't be a secret anymore. It wouldn't be something he finally had to himself. The counselors would know, the principal would know, his teachers would know. He'd probably be called in for some sort of therapy.

He didn't want therapy. He didn't want pity. He wanted it to stop.

He stared at the wall, eyes blank. He felt tired and numb. He could hardly move his limbs, and when he did, they felt like dead weight, like they were almost too heavy to lift. He was mentally drained, he'd been thinking about what happened earlier for the past two and a half hours. What if they contacted his father? It wasn't like Bartholomew didn't already know about his scars, it would be hard to miss them in their situation. He never really brought them to attention, only when he was punishing Castiel for something stupid would he point them out, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look at them, calling them ugly. He often said they turned him off, so he'd take Castiel on his stomach most of the time so he wouldn't have to see them.

Castiel shared his father's opinion. They were ugly. From the thin, horizontal, red and white scars, to the white burns, they were ugly. He hated looking at them, not only because of that, but also because they reminded him of how weak he was. Sometimes he looked at them just for that reason, to remind himself how pathetic he was. He didn't know why he did, maybe to justify why he'd never fight back, another it be against Bartholomew or his school bullies.

He looked down at his arms, letting his eyes linger on the marks, all varying in length and size, as well as time they'd been healing. He stared at them for a while, just staring, his mind blank. When he finally did look up, the urge bled into his mind. The urge to make more, despite how much he hated the ones he already had. He opened his nightstand drawer and pushed around for the pencil sharpener blade, picking it up and looking at it for a moment. He turned it over between his thumb and index finger, sighing softly. He was so tired of this.

He swallowed and looked down at his arm again, finding a space that wasn't already used on his skin. Most of the wounds were higher up on his inner forearm, near the crease where his arm bent at the elbow. Less were by his actual wrist, he rarely cut there, he was always so afraid he'd cut too deep and bleed to much, but live anyways. He was more afraid of surviving than dying, really.

He pressed the edge of the blade against his wrist, staring at it, where it pushed against his skin, but didn't break the surface quite yet. It made more sense to him to do this to himself when he had first started out, years ago. It made sense to want to control something in his life; to control at least some of the pain he felt. He could control a small portion of it, and it made him feel better, at the time. It doesn't work anymore. He just feels numb now when he does it, but he can't seem to stop.

He sighed and pressed down harder against his skin, sliding the edge across his wrist. At first, there were just small, red droplets squeezing from his arm. It quickly became a line trickling down his arm. He made a few more cuts, going through the same process until his vision got darker and darker, which wasn't good. He abandoned the blade and pushed himself up from the floor, whimpering and holding his wrist tightly as he made his way to the bathroom. He held his arm under the faucet and turned on the water, watching blood wash down the drain, mixed with water.

He chewed anxiously on his chapped bottom lip, peeling some of the top layer of skin from it with his teeth. He glanced up at himself in the mirror and glared, blue eyes burning into each other. He hated what looked back at him. He hated how it held its arm under the water, like he did. He hated how much it looked like him. Although, he mostly hated how it didn't have to endure the same pain as him. He hated how people didn't know what he really was, underneath the posh sweaters and shy personality. He hated how no one would care, even if they did know. He hated how, somehow, in some way, his mind drifted to Dean.

He hated Dean Winchester. He hated how Dean hated him, for no apparent reason. What did Castiel ever do to the boy anyways?

Before he could register what he was doing, he was carving letters into his other arm, on the outer side since the inside was littered with them, and the letters would be unrecognizable. He wasn't cutting as deep as before, but the force was enough to easily make out the letters. After rinsing off his arm and turning the sink off, he was undressing and turning on the shower. Clothes discarded in a matter of seconds on the floor, the bathroom door locked, he was in the shower.

Of course he felt compelled to glance at the door every so often. The fear of his father walking in and taking advantage of his vulnerable state never left his mind. He shampooed his hair lazily before rinsing it out and letting the hot water somewhat clean his physical wounds. He then stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his body, hurrying off his room and closing the door behind him. He locked the door, just as a precaution. Dressed, bandages wrapped around his arm, and under the covers minutes later, his eyes closed and he sighed tiredly.

It felt like the fresh wounds were seeping right through the bandages, and he placed his hands on them. He was ashamed of himself. Why did he carve _Dean's_ name into his arm?

...

Much to Dean's protests, Bobby demanded that they go to school the next day.  Dean teased the older man as he drove both Dean and Sam to their separate schools, only managing to get lost twice along the way. Dean just wanted to stay at Bobby's all day, not go to school. He was still confused about his guilt and he needed some time to ponder over it. Castiel was burned into his brain, the image of the trembling, terrified boy seared into his thoughts. He knew he was at fault for most of, if not all, of Castiel's cuts and scars.

He felt bad, obviously, but also confused. Was his school life so bad that he had to go and do that? Was he really that affected by the bullying? Why was he? He was rich, he could have anything he wanted, he could go to private school. He had a pretty good life, if you ask Dean. Maybe the bullying really was too much. There really couldn't have been anything else that he had to deal with, or was there?

The halls were nearly empty when he got into the school, since Bobby had insisted on dropping him off before most of the teachers were even there. He sighed out of boredom, walking around and reading a few flyers about clubs and dances on the walls. Hands shoved in his pockets, he slowed to a stop in front of the theatre. One of the double doors was open and he shrugged before walking inside, hearing distant voices becoming clearer. Sam said the theatre kids - in his middle school at least - were cool. Why not try to make some new, non-douchey friends? He needed ones that didn't laugh at people who cut themselves as if it were a joke.

"Are you kidding me? Hell yeah I'm gonna see it!" he heard a voice say enthusiastically.

He walked in further, making sure he was quiet in case the person was doing something important and didn't need to be disturbed. He leaned against the back wall, watching two figures on the stage moving around. He squinted, attempting to see who the voice belonged to. A short, red-headed girl who he had recognized as Charlie. From the gossip around the school, she was apparently the first lesbian in the school who was open and very unashamed of her sexuality. She shoved a taller, blond boy in the arm playfully.

"Yes well, I heard it's not going to be as good." the blond boy said, his voice laced with a strong British accent.

"Shut up, it's gonna be awesome! The new Vader is obviously Luke, he wasn't shown in the trailer." Charlie explained.

She jumped down from the stage, her feet landing on the floor with a thud. The blond boy followed after, a bit more gracefully, and grabbed his backpack.

"You and your theories." he grumbled.

"I swear to Spock it's true, I'll bet you twenty bucks!"

"You're on, it's going to be fun, taking your money. Like candy from a baby who has a bad dye job." the boy laughed.

She punched his arm again, this time harder. He just continued laughing as she went on her way out of the theatre, using the back entrance. The boy followed after her, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

Theatre people sure are strange.

...

Castiel didn't show up for school today.

Dean had a sinking feeling in his gut. What if Cas killed himself? What if yesterday was the day he was finally pushed over the edge? What if his last thought was how everyone would know about his scars? What if he knew Alastair would give him an even harder time now? What if he cried before he did it - if he did it? Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, sitting in his seat in his Chemistry class. It wasn't hard to let his mind wander when he saw Cas' empty seat.

This was the only class they had together, and Dean always used it to silently torment Castiel. He'd flick things at him, snicker whenever he mumbled an answer to himself sky, too afraid to raise his hand to say it aloud, he'd even gone as far as faking a cough and sneaking in a few choice words directed at the boy. The worst thing he'd ever done to Castiel - in this class, at least - was turn up the heat on the burner he was working with once. Nothing too bad happened, thankfully, but the sleeve of his lab coat was singed and his project was ruined. Dean luckily wasn't caught, and Castiel must have been too afraid to report him, so he blamed it on himself. He failed that project and ended up having to sit out on a week's worth of experiments until he learned the rules of safety.

Dean sighed, only now realizing how much of a dick move that was.

"The fag probably killed himself, did everyone a favor." he heard someone grumble next to him.

Dean turned his head, his eyebrows knitted together in shock, but also an odd sense of protectiveness. He didn't recognize the person who sat next to him, not really anyways. He'd seen him around school, noticed him sitting next to himself for most of the semester, but he never really bothered to learn the guy's name.

"What?" the guy asked when he noticed Dean's glare on him.

Dean hadn't even realized he was glaring.

"The fuck is your problem? You think that's funny? You think someone killing themself is a joke? What if it was your brother or sister? Or your mom or dad?" Dean asked, turning fully in his seat to face the obviously scrawnier guy.

"Uh, well-" the guy flushed. "I dunno, I mean, I heard Alistair-"

"Fuck Alistair, suicide isn't fucking funny." Dean snarled, nearly reaching over and grabbing the guy's collar to shake some sense into him, but restrained himself.

"S-sorry, I...I didn't mean-"

Dean scoffed and turned away, not letting the guy finish his sentence.

"Think before you speak, dipshit." He spat angrily.

He only realized the irony of what he said after he said it, considering he had never thought before he spoke, or acted for that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://sinthusiast.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic rape scene that starts off the chapter, so if you're easily triggered, please skip over.
> 
> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Castiel whimpered each time the headboard hit the wall, head turned to the side and arms tied together above him. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet. Bartholomew didn't like him to make too much noise unless he permitted it, and he hadn't.

"You're gonna lie down and shut your whore mouth, and take what I give you." Bartholomew had ordered, his voice raw and angry.

Yesterday, Castiel had made a decision without thinking about the consequences. Today, he was paying for it.

"Ungrateful little shit." The man spat, punctuating his words with a hard thrust.

Bartholomew was holding Castiel's shoulders, pinning him down onto the bed to immobilize him completely as he used him.

"It's one thing to spread your legs for some teenager's little cock behind my back-" he said, leaning down and stopping his movements to whisper in Castiel's ear. "-but cutting his name into your arm? That's just ignorance."

Castiel whimpered in pain as Bartholomew started slamming into him again at a brutal pace. Castiel felt tears stream down his temple and the side of his face, soaking into the bed spread below him. The mattress creaked beneath him as Bartholomew continued with his thrusts, grunting and groaning from where he was on top of Castiel. There was a few times where he'd get so angry he'd release one of Castiel's shoulders just to smack the exposed skin of Castiel's ass. Castiel bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain whenever his father did so.

He'd woken up this morning, having completely forgotten about his arm when he walked downstairs. He usually didn't bother to cover his arms when he was at home with just his father, he had no reason to, Bartholomew would just see them soon enough when he would shred Castiel of his clothes. He didn't think twice when he walked downstairs, still in his short sleeved pajama shirt, and greeted his father, who was sat at the breakfast table reading the newspaper. He went to make cereal, opening the fridge to get the milk, then he felt his father's hand clamp down on his wrist. He only remembered the previous night when he felt pain shoot throughout his arm as his father dug his fingers into the cuts.

_"Who's Dean?" His father had asked, a sadistic and irritated smile on his face._

_Of course Castiel hadn't told him the truth, that he'd carved the name of the boy that had been tormenting him for years into his arm out of frustration. That would just spark a debate with the school about how they go about managing their bullies, and make the bullying even worse. When he didn't answer, Bartholomew had come to his own conclusions anyhow._

_"A boyfriend? Hm? Isn't that a little obsessive, Castiel? Cutting a boy's name into your arm?"_

_Castiel looked down at the ground, trembling now, because he knew what was going to happen._

That's what led to this - this searing pain he was feeling. Bartholomew was almost never gentle, because the only time he really did this was when he was punishing Castiel. He'd punish him for the littlest things, like breaking the plate. Once he even punished Castiel for making his bed the wrong way. Afterwards, he made Castiel redo it while he was still crying and trembling.

He'd never been able to get used to gentleness, it was so rare. It was sad, Castiel longed for the gentle times, when Bartholomew would tell Castiel he had his mother's eyes and take his time stretching him, so it didn't hurt. It always hurt, from the first time until now, Castiel had only orgasmed a handful of times, and was always chided for it.

_"Look at that, it seems like you like Daddy's cock, don't you?" Bartholomew had told him each time he managed to reach release himself. "Lick it up, clean up your mess you whore."_

Castiel gripped the sheets beneath him tighter, trying to choke back the sobs racking his body as he remembered each one of Bartholomew's hurtful words, all the while listening to the ones being hurled at him now.

"Fucking little cockslut, I bet you'd take any dick you could get. Wouldn't you? That's so dirty, Castiel, you disgusting skank. You want cock? I've been meaning to call over some of my friends, I could charge them a thousand a turn, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Being pimped out like the whore you are?" His father threatened, smacking the back of Castiel's head angrily.

Castiel sobbed and shook his head desperately, biting down on the blanket to quiet himself. He didn't want to anger his father even further.

"Then who's dick do you want? Hm? Use your words and maybe I'll take mercy on you, if you're convincing enough."

Castiel turned his head, closing his eyes as he struggled to get words out through his sobs.

"On-only y-yours, D-D-Daddy." He stuttered, feeling Bartholomew speed up again. "I onl-my want y-yours."

It seemed to be enough for Bartholomew, because he was stilling and tightly gripping Castiel's hips. He held the boy in place as he came inside of him, groaning and cursing. As usual, when he was done, he got up and took a shower, leaving Castiel a mess on the bed. He never invited Castiel to shower with him, and Castiel was grateful for that, even though the only reason was because Bartholomew insisted that Castiel should be left to feel filthy and used, because he was. He still preferred that over showering with his father.

With a whimper, he was pulling himself up and turning onto his back. His legs were like jelly, and he was still panting, trying to catch his breath. He sat up and scooted backwards until his was leaning against the headboard, closing his eyes. Blanket cuddled close to his chest, covering as much of his body as possible, thoughts of disgust for himself raced through his mind. Bartholomew's words were there too, torturing and haunting him.

"Get up and get out of my sight." he heard his father's voice say from a few feet away.

He opened his eyes and saw Bartholomew standing in the doorway, a towel in his hand and shower running, getting warm. Castiel swallowed thickly and nodded, turning so his feet were on the ground. The wood underneath was cold from the AC being on and the coolness shot up through his legs as he stood, dropping the blanket. He quickly gathered his clothes and hurried out, ignoring the slight limp in his step. He closed the bedroom door behind him and let out a shaky sigh, a tear slipping down his cheek. From down the stairs, the cleaning lady looked up, her eyes sad and guilty as she watched the young boy limp back to his room pathetically.

She wished she could do something.

...

Dean spent most of the school day wondering what could have happened to Castiel, not wanting to accept the fact that the douchebag in his chemistry class might have had the right idea about him. He didn't want to think that. He didn't want to be responsible for someone's suicide. He didn't even want to be partly responsible for it. He could hardly deal with the fact that Castiel hurt himself, and that he was why, well, he and his friends. It felt to Dean like a flip had switched inside him when he saw all the scars and marks on Castiel's arms, as if each one was personally his fault.

He knew the feeling of true guilt now. He felt guilty for bullying Cas. He felt guilty for ever even choosing him as a target in the first place. He remembered the first time he saw Castiel, how the boy looked so innocent, so normal and doe-eyed. He remembered the first time he talked to him, freshman year in French class. He remembered looking and Cas and guessing that he was smart, so he'd asked to copy his homework. He chuckled at the memory of Castiel stuttering and blushing just from Dean talking to him, handing over his homework easily with a shy smile. Of course Dean ended up forgetting it at his house the next day, so Castiel had to redo the whole thing and turn it in late. He felt like shit for that, but Cas didn't seem bothered by it, so he didn't pay too much attention to it. For the next few days in the class, he'd always see Castiel glance at him and just for shits and giggles, he'd wink at the blue eyed boy, knowing fully well how flustered it got him.

Dean also remembered the first time he messed with Cas. It was a good week or two after the homework mishap, in the locker room when they were getting their lockers reassigned. He remembered seeing Castiel glancing around at the different lockers, trying to find his. But a few times, the searching blue eyes would stop briefly on some guy's half naked form, and his cheeks would turn a new shade of pink. Dena didn't know why he said anything, but he did. He meant for it to sound more teasing than anything, but the other guys in the room took it further.

_"You a fag or somethin'?" He asked Cas as he pulled his own shirt off, seeing the boy's frantic eyes land on him._

_Castiel obviously couldn't help but glance at Dean's chest in the process and that's what started his downfall. The boy next to Dean saw him and stepped forward, shoving Cas' shoulder._

_"Fagboy wants some dick!" The boy called out, laughing._

_Dean would later get to know him as Alastair, a junior who was doomed to repeat senior year, twice. Dean saw the flash of fear in Castiel blue eyes as Alastair shoved him again. Luckily, the coach came in before things could escalate._

_"Fags like him need a separate locker room, to stop the eye rape." Alastair spat._

_"Don't be a bigot and get dressed." The coach said before showing Castiel to his locker, a few rows down._

Dean had started that. It was his fault.

"You're quiet." Sam said suddenly, snapping Dean out of the memory.

"Hm?" He asked, shaking his head. "Oh, yeah, tired." He half-lied, he was pretty worn out, but only from thinking about Cas all day.

"No, not 'tired quiet', you're like...'upset quiet'. What's wrong?" Sam asked, cocking his head to the side a little bit.

Dean didn't answer, he wasn't gonna talk to Sam about his feelings, he couldn't. He was a role model to this kid. If Sam knew Dean bullied someone to a point where they probably killed himself today, he'd never talk to him again. He couldn't let that happen, Sam was all he had. He had to remain being Sam's hero, and probably Castiel's too, if he was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://sinthusiast.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Dean parked near the back of the school parking lot and stepped out, hugging his jacket around himself as the cold wind hit his face. He slammed the car door shut and crossed his arms, heading towards the school doors. He walked in, winking at one of the freshman girls that waved to him, smirking at the way she blushed.

Before he could explain why, he found himself looking around for Castiel. Maybe to apologize, maybe to ask him to not involve the cops or the principal, he couldn't really explain his reason. He walked past the hall where he usually noticed Castiel standing at his locker, looking through and pulling books out.

Not that he watched Castiel at his locker or anything.

He just couldn't help but notice the boy, he walked past his locker nearly every morning, how could he not notice the kid? He leaned against the wall opposite Castiel's locker, waiting for the boy to show up. Hopefully, he wasn't still sick. If he was, that would just make one more thing Dean would have to apologize for.

He sighed in relief when he saw Castiel walking towards his locker, dubious to Dean's presence since his back was turned. He watched Castiel open his locker with those same slender fingers he'd been fascinated with when he watched Castiel open his gym locker. Best not to think about that Dean, bad memories stay in the past.

He finally pushed himself from the wall and made his way over to Castiel, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. Once he was behind the boy - with barely enough breathing room he might add - he opened his mouth to speak. He furrowed his eyebrows and closed his mouth again as Castiel pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. Dean couldn't help it, curiosity killed the cat. He looked over Castiel's shoulder at the text he'd received.

**Bartholomew: Don't be late coming home, my date didn't go well.**

Dean read the text, wondering who Bartholomew was and why he felt the need to tell Castiel about his date.

**Castiel: Yes father.**

He read Castiel's reply and nodded, obviously it was his father, who else would it be. He heard Castiel's phone vibrate in his hand but couldn't keep reading the boy's texts, he was enough of a douchebag as is.

Did he just admit that?

"Uh, hey." he finally said after minutes of standing behind Castiel like some creep.

Castiel jumped and turned around, clutching his phone. Fear and anger - but mainly fear - flashed across those oceanic blue eyes and he slammed his back against the lockers, squirming.

"Relax." he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I won't hurt you."

He knew that Castiel had no reason to trust him, Hell, if he was Cas he'd just kick Dean right in the family jewels. He'd said that last time he talked to Castiel too, then left the boy to be humiliated and degraded. Now, standing in front of the trembling boy, close enough to see the terror in his eyes, he couldn't help but wonder why he ever hated him, why he ever bullied him.

"Uh, anyways...I'm...I'm sorry...about last time." he said, struggling to meet Castiel's eyes.

Castiel didn't say anything.

"With the...the dress and stuff. I didn't...I didn't plan on Al bringing the...the thing, ya know...that he put in your...mouth."

Why was it so hard to talk? Why did his throat feel so dry? He bit his lip as he looked at Castiel, their eyes locking momentarily before Castiel looked away. He expected something, maybe a 'Why would I believe you?' or maybe 'Go fuck yourself'. Nothing. Castiel just shoved his phone in his pocket, closed his locker, and walked off.

Dean was gonna have to try harder.

...

Castiel sat with Kevin in the library during lunch, showing his new friend the wonders of sitting in a quiet room with no one trampling you or spilling food on you. He sat across the table from Kevin, listening to the boy talk enthusiastically about some new game system his mom got him for his straight A's.

He tried to concentrate on Kevin's words, he really did, but he couldn't help that his mind drifted off to what had happened earlier, how Dean had came to him at his locker. He looked down at the table, smiling slightly. He felt proud of himself. He didn't cry, he didn't beg for mercy, he didn't let Dean win this time like usual. He walked away, he did the right thing - for once - and walked away.

"Hey man, you okay?"

Castiel looked up, eyes wide.

"Hm?"

"You're like...in a trance. What's up?" Kevin asked, taking a bite of his hamburger, if that's what you'd call a hamburger.

"I'm fine, just...thinking."

Kevin could pick up on the fact that Castiel was obviously lying, but he didn't ask about it, Castiel didn't seem to like to talk about his troubles.

"You should join the theatre club." Kevin said suddenly.

Castiel cocked his head to the side.

"Well, I have a friend in there, Charlie, she's pretty cool. She's funny, pretty, spunky, and-"

"It sounds like you have a crush on her." Castiel said, smiling slightly.

"And lesbian."

"Oh."

Kevin laughed and shrugged.

"If I could I would man, she's amazing. You should talk to her, I'll even join with you." Kevin said, taking a drink of his water bottle.

Castiel nodded, anything to get home late.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Castiel held his books tightly as he walked into the school theatre with Kevin. A girl with vibrant red hair - notocable enough to be distinguished from where Castiel stood, across the large room - pranced around the stage. A man took her hand and spun her around, nearly flinging her off of the stage.

"C'mon." Kevin urged, walking ahead and offering Castiel a small smile.

Castiel took a deep breath, fingers gripping the sides of his books as he took a rigid step forward. He loosened up with each step he took, following Kevin to the stage until the boy stopped and hopped up onto the elevated wood. He held out a hand, smiling down at Castiel while the girl and guy behind him turned to look, curiosity etched into their features. Setting his books down on the ground next to his backpack, he took Kevin's hand and heaved himself up.

"Hiya there stranger." The perky redhead chirped.

"Hello there." The boy said almost at the same time, eyes scanning over Castiel's body shamelessly.

It made Castiel uneasy, but because he'd never been looked at quite like so. The girl nudged the boy beside her, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

"Keep it in your pants Balthazar." She said, her tone playfully chastizing.

"Hey guys, this is Castiel." Kevin introduced.

"Your parents named you after an angel too, then?" Balthazar asked, crossing his arms in amusement.

"My...my mother...she was very religious." Castiel said, for once not stuttering in the presence of people.

He should get an award.

"Woah, deep voice, I'm Charlie." Charlie chuckled, but not in an intimidating or mocking way.

More like in a friendly way.

"So, you guys here for Theatre Club?"

Kevin nodded and slung his arm around Castiel, and Castiel surprisingly didn't flinch at the contact. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out, seeing his father's name light up on the screen.

"If you gotta be somewhere-" Charlie started, but Castiel cut her off bravely.

"No," he said, his voice a little too eager. "No, it's...my father, it...i-it can wait."

Charlie nodded, smiling softly to ease Castiel's nerves.

"Kay well, Balthy here was-"

"Never call me that." Balthazar snapped, but smiled none-the-less.

Charlie smiled.

"He was showing me how to dance even though I can dance way better than him."

"I was teaching her how to ballroom dance, which is actual dancing, unlike that awful video game you play that teaches you to 'dance'." Balthazar nudged her with his elbow.

She tolled her eyes and smirked, moving her arm rigidly as she started dancing.

"What? Like this?"

"Please stop."

"Oh, what? I can't hear you over the music, gimme a beat DJ Tranny-Tran!"

"That sounds-" Kevin started.

"I have realized my mistake, just start beatboxing!" She laughed, moon-walking backwards.

Castiel laughed as Kevin started beatboxing into his hand, bobbing his body up and down and imitating a scratching record. He felt something brush against his hand, taking it firmly and raising it up, he glanced over.

"Would you like to learn how to dance like an adult?" Balthazar asked, eyes twinkling as one flicked closed for the slightest second, a wink.

Castiel swallowed thickly, eyes flashing downwards as he felt his cheeks heat up. He felt himself be tugged forward in the gentlest way, his chest pressed against Balthazar's. Balthazar's hand left his, letting it fall to his side. Two hands wrapped around his hips, fingertips barely pressing into Castiel's hipbones.

"Tell me how I haven't noticed you around school before?" Balthazar asked, raising an eyebrow down at the blue eyed boy.

"I...I don't....I-"

He was silenced by the movement of him being tugged to his left slightly as Balthazar turned, pulling Castiel up so he stood on Balthazar's toes. Balthazar apparently didn't mind that Castiel was scuffing some seriously expensive looking shoes.

"I smell an OTP." Charlie said, looking at the two with a wide, toothy grin.

...

Castiel was walking home, having endured Theatre Club without incident, meaning no panic attacks. Today was a good day, but he knew it wouldn't be once he got home. He knew his father was going to be beyond angry, beyond enraged, downright livid. It made sense, when did Castiel ever even have a good day anymore?

He was mentally preparing himself for the moment he would get home and get his punishment. He told himself that even though he'd never had it very badly since the abuse started, maybe, just maybe, out of the goodness of his heart, Bartholomew would take mercy on him.

Maybe he'd slap Castiel around or grab his hair and smash his face into the wall.

Maybe he'd take his time numbing Castiel with pain so he would barely feel him slide in.

Maybe he'd let Castiel eat dinner and sleep on a bed instead of outside.

Castiel was looking forward to that, that would be a good day. That would be good. That would be tolerable. Good.

"Cas?"

Castiel jumped at the sound of his name, clutching his books to his chest and turning to look at the shiny black Impala cruising slowly on the road beside him.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean asked, leaning over the middle seat to look out the passenger window at Castiel, speaking loudly over the engine.

Castiel's breath hitched. Despite his nervous demeanor, he wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh at the idea of Dean asking him if he was okay, because he'd never expected to hear those words from _Dean Winchester's_   pink, plump lips. It seemed so domestic and friendly, it set Castiel's nerves on fire. Dean Winchester was _not_ friendly.

"You gonna say somethin' or stand there undressin' me with your eyes?" Dean asked, smirking, but not like usual, not in a cocky way.

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows slightly and decided he'd get enough abuse from his father once he got home, so he turned and kept walking. He heard the Impala's engine grow louder and then stay at the same volume as Dean followed beside Castiel.

"Hey, I'm just kiddin'. C'mon." Dean said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Castiel didn't say anything, but took a deep breath and hurried his pace.

"Hey!" Castiel jumped at the obvious irritation in Dean's voice and turned, trembling.

"You need a ride?" Dean asked.

Castiel tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

"It's hot out, and you're walking home in a damn cardigan or whatever the hell that's called, let me drive you." Dean offered.

It was hot out, and Castiel was starting to sweat. No, no.

 _Don't trust Dean._ Castiel told himself. _Look where that's gotten you in the past._

He cringed at the memory of his last encounter where Dean seemed friendly.

"N-no, th-th-thank you." He said, turning and hurrying across the crosswalk.

He heard the tell-tale sound of the engine beside him in a matter of seconds, Dean had made a U-turn and was still following Castiel. This must be a good prank he's planning, why else would he be trying so hard to earn Castiel's trust.

"Cas, c'mon. You don't gotta tell me where you live, I'll drop you off a block away if you want, or whatever." Dean insisted, irritation clear in his voice.

Serves him right. If he wanted to fuck with Castiel, he was going to have to work hard.

Castiel kept walking, not looking back as he stared ahead.

"Seriously man? You're one stubborn S.O.B, y'know that?" Dean asked, trying to sound playful.

"L-leave me alone." Castiel finally said.

"I'm sorry."

Castiel stopped walking, turning to look at Dean, who was poking his head through the passenger window.

"What?" He asked.

"What? I'm sorry? Yeah well, I am. I mean, I didn't mean for Alistair and them to go so far...y'know, with the..."

"The hazing?" Castiel asked, surprised with himself at how confident he sounded, even though he was trembling terribly.

"Yeah...that." Dean said, biting his lip awkwardly.

Castiel took a deep breath and turned, walking on.

"Cas? Cas!" He heard Dean groan as the Impala growled and he surged forward, pulling up on the sidewalk just the slightest bit.

Good thing Castiel was the only one on the sidewalk at the moment.

"Dammit Cas." Dean snapped, getting out of the car.

Castiel took a few steps back as Dean approached him, his legs turning to jelly. Dean stopped just a few inches away, fists balled at his sides.

"Stop being so fucking stubborn and get in the Goddamn car, let me be nice to you!" Dean yelled.

Castiel actually yelped in fear and rushed to the passemge door, flinging it open and getting in. The door creaked as he shut it, quickly buckling himself in and hugging the books tightly to his chest.

His chest was tight, his teeth were clattering against each other, and he felt bile rise in his throat. He closed his eyes, breathing in, then out, then in, then out, through his nostrils. He let out a shaky breath, body trembling slightly, barely aware that Dean was now sitting in the driver's seat and looking over at Castiel with confusion and concern.

"Cas? Shit, shit I'm...I'm sorry." Dean said, his voice sounding panicked.

Castiel barely heard Dean over the ringing in his ears. His stomach twisted and flipped and turned, the sharp ache returning in his abdomen, the one he usually got during his panick attacks.

"Shit, shit, shit." He heard Dean mutter, then sigh. "What do I do? Cas? What-what do-"

Castiel bit down hard on his lip, not caring as he felt the sharp tingling feeling, then the skin of his lip spilt and the blood drip into his mouth. He jerked backwards against the seat as the car moved forward, the engine loud as Dean sped down the street. He didn't even realize he was sobbing violently until the passenger door was open and Dean was pulling Castiel out of the seat, muttering a string of curses and apologies.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Shit.

_ Shit. _

Dean didn't mean to give the kid a fucking _heart attack_.

He didn't even realize he was that scary. Well, he probably should have, since Castiel was terrified of him. But that isn't the issue right now. The issue is that Castiel is flipping out and breathing weird and crying and looks like he's about to throw up.

Dean stumbled out of the driver's seat and rushed - nearly sliding over the hood of Baby, but deciding against it - to the other side. He flung the door open and leaned over Castiel's lap, unbuckling the seatbelt and hauling the guy out of the car. Castiel, barely able to move his legs, leaned on Dean for support, clutching his stomach and whimpering pathetically.

"Help!" Dean shouted as he practically dragged Castiel into the emergency room.

A nurse rushed over and lifted Castiel's chin, looking over the bleeding lip and tear tracks on his cheeks and probably assuming he'd gotten into a fight. She, and a few other nurses, supported Castiel's weight as they sat him down in a wheelchair and hurried off, Dean following behind quickly because there was no way he was leaving Cas alone after he'd caused this.

...

Dean chewed nervously on his lip as he watched the nurses hold Castiel down - not that it was really necessary because Castiel wasn't even fucking fighting or resisting - and inject his neck with something that sure as hell calmed him the fuck down. Once he was relaxed against the bed and sedated, the group disbanded, leaving the nurse that first arrived to help alone with Dean.

"What happened?" She asked, walking around the bed and unwrapping some plastic from a small needle.

"I uh...I freaked him out. Scared him and he started like...flippin', cryin' and stuff." He explained, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"What about his lip?" She asked, confused.

"He bit it, he uh...he does that a lot."

She nodded and ushered Dean over.

"I need you to take his sweater off so I can inject the IV." She said, motioning to Castiel's torso.

Dean nodded, hands quickly making use of themselves as he unbuttoned Castiel's sweater and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck. The drug they gave him must have made him turn to stone, because he seemed a lot heavier now than when Dean pulled him from the car. Dean wrapped his arm around the back of Castiel's neck, holding him up as he removed the blue sweater with one hand. Thankfully, Cas was wearing a white T-shirt underneath so he wouldn't have to take that off too.

He heard the nurse's sharp intake of breath, looking over to see her eyes dance across Castiel's arms. Dean leaned him back against the hospital bed and stood back, looking at Castiel's arms. He felt like he was going to throw up. There, on - technically, in - Castiel's arm, was Dean's name, carved into his skin.

The nurse collected herself and stuck the needle into Castiel's right arm, who just whimpered at the pain and turned his head away. Dean cringed and looked down at the ground, sure, he can handle blood, but not needles. Hell no.

"Was he foaming at the mouth or experiencing any blackouts?" She asked, her voice now shaky, fiddling with a machine by the bed.

Castiel watched her every move with big, doey eyes.

"N-no, just...crying." Dean said, eyes transfixed on Castiel's arm, reading his own name over and over.

God, Dean was such a piece of shit.

"Okay, I'll be right back, keep an eye on him." She said, scurrying off.

Dean grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to the bed, swallowing thickly as he sat down. He licked his lips, hand coming up to wrap around Castiel's left wrist and pull it closer to the edge of the bed, now looking at the letters upside down. Castiel seemed to register what was going on, because he retracted his arm and held it close to his chest, like he'd broken it.

"Cas..." Dean whispered.

Castiel turned his head away from Dean, making a small sound of protest, as if to say _'I don't want to talk about it'_ and so Dean shut up. He bit his lip, wanting to reach out and run his thumb over the word and just apologize for fucking the dude up so badly. He didn't care if it sounded gay or not, he wanted to hug Cas, he wanted to hug him and apologize for everything he'd done.

"Cas, I'm sorry." He said, eyes flickering over Castiel's relaxed form.

It took Cas a minute to respond.

"No."

Dean nodded, even though Castiel wasn't looking at him and therefore couldn't see him.

The nurse walked back in a while later, coming over and feeling Castiel's head.

"Can you speak?" She asked.

"Yes."

"Tell me what happened." She said, removing her hand and helping Castiel sit up until his back was rested against the wall.

"It was a panic attack, I'm fine." He explained, hand going to pull out the IV, but she stopped him.

A panic attack? Thank God. Dean thought he gave the guy a heart attack, he thought he killed him.

"Triggered by what?" She asked.

Without hesitation, Castiel answered.

"Stress, schoolwork, etcetera."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, that is _not_ true.

"Alright well, what's your name?" She asked, sounding a bit deafeated, and unconvinced.

"Castiel Novak."

Cas seemed calm, not just because of the drugs either, calm like _'I've done this way too many times'_ calm. The nurse raised her eyebrows, looking shocked.

"Bartholomew Novak's child? CEO of Sandover?" She asked.

Dean saw the way Castiel's Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed, hand gripping the sheet beside him.

"Yes." He answered, voice strained.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, Castiel's behavior seemed way too familiar.

"We'll contact him and have him pick you up." She said, not giving Castiel time to answer before walking off, puling the curtain closed as she did so.

Castiel looked like he was about to have another panic attack.

"Cas?" Dean asked.

"Hm?"

"You...you need some...coffee or? Something?"

It wasn't his fault he wasn't good in these situations.

Castiel chewed on his lip, which hadn't even healed from the previous abuse done to it. He nodded, hands clutching and unclutching the sheets rhythmically. Castiel looked like he was trying to keep himself in check instead of bursting out crying again, or throwing up.

"I'll be right back." Dean said, patting Castiel's back and standing up.

...

Dean was walking back to Cas' makeshift room with two cups of coffee, a few packets of sugar, and two stirring straws tucked behind his ear when he heard a voice. He stopped and looked down the hall, seeing Castiel backed up against a wall, looking utterly terrified, even more so than when he looked at Dean. Dean wanted to storm up and push whoever had Cas pinned, but heard their harsh whispering.

"You think you can get rid of me, you little prick?" Dean heard the other person say.

He disappeared behind the corner and listened, eyebrows knitted together. The other person was a man.

"N-n-no S-Sir." Came Castiel's reply.

"Don't give me that stuttering shit, you know what you've done. Coming here, parading those ugly...things...around for people to see. I have a reputation to uphold and I don't need my whiny bitch of a son ruining that."

Ah, so it was Bartholomew then, Castiel's dad. Funny, he sounded alot like John right now.

"S-sorry Sir."

"You will be, you little shit. Once we get home, you'll be sorry for a week, won't be able to sit down right, I'll make you cry so hard you lose your voice. Next time you try to get rid of me, I'll shove myself so deep in you you won't walk for a month." Bartholomew threatened.

Dean saw red. Bartholomew was...he was worse than John. Yeah, sure, John was a drunken asshole who occasionally put the beat down on Dean, but this guy? This guy was worse than Lucifer himself. The way he spoke, the things he said, it made Dean want to throw up. Castiel's father was _raping_ him, along with beating him and possibly even being the main cause of those scars on Castiel's arms, other than the one that was obviously Dean's fault.

"Get in the fucking car, I'll sign you out." Bartholomew said.

Dean nearly charged at the dickwad when he heard the tell-tale sound of a hand smacking across a cheek, followed by a whimper. Footsteps grew distant as Bartholomew presumably walked off, leaving Castiel alone in the empty corridor. Dean heard Castiel breath in shakily, stopping himself from crying, then walk towards where Dean was eavesdropping.

Dean swallowed thickly and pushed himself away from the wall, tossig the coffee in the trash and turning to meet wide, frightened blue eyes staring into his own.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

"Dean," Castiel said, trying to pull his arm free from Dean's grip. " _Dean_ , st-

"Hurry up." Dean interrupted, pushing his way through the hospital's side doors, towards where he'd parked Baby when he first pulled up during Castiel's panic attack.

With the most courage he's had all day - possibly ever - Castiel yanked his arm away from Dean. Dean slowed down and turned to face Castiel, dumbfounded.

"You know I'm not gonna let you leave with him." Dean hissed after a few seconds, his voice low, eyes darting to the people walking past them and giving them weird looks.

"Why? B-because you're the only person who's...who's allowed to hurt me?" Castiel snapped, anger filling blue irises.

"Because he's a fucking  _rapist_ , Cas, that's why." Dean said, wincing at how harsh his voice sounded.

"And you care why? I thought I deserved this? I thought I deserved all the bullying I got, from you, from your friends, what's one more person to fear?" Castiel asked, his voice breaking as he crossed his arms, sweater forgotten somewhere in the hospital.

Dean felt a tightening in his chest at Castiel's words, how could someone just...give up? How could someone fall so hard and just keep letting people kick them over and over and over?

_Because he's broken._

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and shaking Crowley's voice from his thoughts.

"Let me take you to my uncle's place, he'll take care of you. Please Cas, we can talk about this there, please." Dean begged, clasping his hands together and nearly buckling to his knees in front of Castiel.

Castiel looked back at the hospital, throat rippling as he swallowed, bottom lip trembling.

"It won't matter, I'll have to go home at some point, prolonging the...i-inevitable will j-just...just make it...worse." He said, his voice cold and even robotic sounding, like he's told himself this over and over.

The thought made Dean want to throw up.

"No, we'll...we'll call the cops." Dean said, running a hand through his hair and stepping forward. "Please, please Cas." 

Castiel turned his head to look at Dean, then - much to Dean's amazement - pushed him back slightly.

"This is a trick, you're tricking me." Castiel said, walking backwards cautiously.

"No! No its..." He groaned. "I swear, I swear to God its not a joke or anythin'. I wouldn't joke about this, this is serious."

Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, searching Dean's face for any sign of deceit.

"I don't believe you."

"I know, but...Cas please. Please?" Dean begged, cringing at how pathetic he sounded, how whiny he sounded.

He dropped to his knees, throwing his dignity out the window as he looked up at Castiel, who's eyes were blown wide in confusion.

"I know I'm asshole, okay? I know. But I'm not gonna let you keep hurtin' yourself."

"So that's it then?" Castiel asked, eyes glimmering with what were probably tears. "You...feel sorry for me?"

Dean wasn't going to lie, of course he felt bad. All this time, he was just assuming Cas lived the perfect white-picket-fence life, a mom and a dad, weekly hundred-something dollar allowance. He was wrong. He was way wrong.

"Or are you just pretending to bear my existence out of the goodness of your heart?" Castiel asked, his voice shaking, like he was ready to break down any minute.

"What? No, I-"

"Save your breath, th-there's no point in...in p-pretending that...that you c-care, just...just go." Castiel said, not even noticing the wetness pouring down his cheeks.

Dean felt useless. He wanted to help Cas, he wanted to help and make up for how much he's put the kid through, the name-calling, the torment, the scars. He wanted to apologize for all of it and take it back, but he couldn't. Hell, if he hadn't pointed Cas out freshman year, Alistair and the others would have probably just left him alone.

Castiel turned and started walking away from Dean, heading back towards the hospital. How could he even imagine that going back to...to his monster of a father, would make things go away? They're not going to go away, Hell, Dean's already made it worse by dragging Castiel out, Bartholomew would probably think that Castiel tried to run off.

Everything Dean does just fucks things up in the worse way possible.

He watched Castiel walk into the hospital, his hands visibly shaking as he raised one to wipe his tear-stained cheek. Dean stumbled to his feet and followed him, hot on Castiel's heels. He grabbed the boy's shoulder and turned him so he was facing Dean, giving Dean the chance to see just how _tired_ Cas looked, he could tell how much Cas wanted to give up just by the look in his eyes.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Dean blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

Castiel sniffled, eyes narrowing in confusion at the question. He swallowed and looked away, wiping his cheeks with the heel of his palm.

"A therapist."

Dean nodded, hands still perched on Castiel's shoulders, holding the boy arms length away.

"Why?" Dean asked, a plan forming in that fucked up mind of his.

Castiel looked a little caught off guard at first, like he didn't expect Dean to care about his life or his thoughts.

"I...I want to help people." Castiel answered, his voice just above a whisper.

"How?"

Castiel's answer came easier now.

"I...I want to...help. I want to...be able to tell them that...that they can get better. They can be happy, it...it wouldn't be easy...but it could be possible."

Dean couldn't help but smile a little, not caring that he felt his eyes sting with what were probably tears.

"How are you gonna do that if you're dead?" Dean asked, blinking and feeling a tear slip out of the corner of his eye and trail down his cheek, past the bow of his lip and into his mouth.

Castiel looked up at him, Adam's Apple bobbing.

"You can't help people if your dead, Cas. You go back home with...him, and you're gonna end up killing yourself if he doesn't. Can't you see it? You can't put yourself through that anymore, you gotta stay alive. Stay alive for yourself, live your life." Dean rambled, stopping finally to breath.

Castiel's eyes darted down to the ground, his shoulders bouncing as he sniffled. He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist and nodded.

For a second, Dean swore he saw the slightest hint of a smile twitch at the corner of Cas' mouth.

"Okay." Cas nodded. "Okay, l-let's..."

Dean nodded and didn't even think twice before lacing his fingers with Castiel's and heading towards the doors again.

He didn't care if it seemed gay, for once.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Dean knocked on one of the spare bedroom doors in the hallway, a concerned Bobby and Sam standing behind him, lingering and eyes watching curiously for the door to open.

"Cas? You...decent?" He asked, holding the clothes he'd taken from his bedroom on the opposite side of the hall, a sweatshirt and some plaid bottoms he'd had since he was like, fifteen.

"Yes." Came the reply a few hesitant seconds later.

Dean opened the door and poked his head through, eyes finding Castiel's easily. He walked in, shutting the door behind him - cutting off the nosey Bobby and Sam from seeing inside - and walking over.

"I uh, got you some clothes from my room." He said, setting the pile next to where Castiel sat on the bed.

The bed dipped as Dean sat next to Castiel, but still giving the dude some space because he obviously still hated Dean. Dean even hated Dean right now.

"Thank you." Castiel said, eyes trained on the floor by his feet.

Dean nodded, biting his lip and letting his eyes flicker over Castiel's arms. He couldn't really help it, as old as some of those scars looked, they looked so _pain_ _ful_. It made him wonder why Castiel made himself bear it so much, didn't it hurt like a mother? Dean couldn't even imagine what it felt like to burn your own skin until it scabs your inner arm up so much you can barely see skin in the sea of slices and burnt white tissue.

"You're wondering if it hurt." Castiel said, snapping Dean from his thoughts.

Even though it was definitely a statement, a question mark hung in the air, because Castiel may have been wrong. Dean may have just been observing the pathetic displays of emotion, or not even looking at them all together, but instead to ground or, you know, something _interesting_.

Dean looked back up at Castiel's face, which was still tilted towards the ground, eyes still focused intently on something appareninteresting about the hardwood floor.

"I know they did." Dean said.

Castiel didn't say anything.

"When did you...?" Dean asked, voice trailing off, as if to leave it open for an answer or to just be ignored completely, either would be fine.

He doubts Cas wants to talk about his scars to the one person who caused half of them anyways. He wouldn't want to if he was in the same position, that's why he could hardly ever stand being in the same room with his father, acting like the previous day of yelling and bruising hadn't happened.

"When I was fourteen." Castiel said, his voice so quiet Dean could hardly hear him, causing him to lean in slightly to hear better. "I said...w-when I was fourteen."

Dean nodded, biting this inside of his cheek to stop himself from asking anything stupid. They sat in silence for a while, Castiel staring at the pattern on the floor and Dean twiddling his thumbs in his lap. Occasionally, Dean would glance over and catch sight of his own name on Castiel's arm, reading it and hating himself a little more each time he sounded it out in his head. He suddenly hated the name and wanted to change it. He'd always liked the name James, like James Hetfield from Metallica, now that dude knew how to be a decent human being, unlike Dean.

"When did you...do that?" Dean asked, nodding his head towards Castiel's right arm.

Without breaking his staring contest with the floor, Castiel slowly pulled his arm to his chest, cradling it carefully and thankfully hiding the hideous word.

"I should get dressed." Castiel said, his voice cracking, eyes faltering for the shortest second as he glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Dean nodded, understanding.

"Yeah, okay uh, I'll...come get you when dinner's ready." Dean said, patting the bed in the stony silence of the room before standing and walking over to the door.

He walked out without another word, closing the door quietly behind him with a click.

...

Dinner was ready after about ten minutes - Bobby made hamburgers and Dean hoped Castiel liked hamburgers - and Dean kept his promise, walking over to Cas' door and knocking softly. He heard a sniffle and a soft sigh before the door was opened and Castiel was smiling softly.

"I smell hamburgers." Castiel said, eyes meeting Dean's.

As pretty as Cas' smile was - and Dean was _not_ going to contemplate on why he thought a dude's smile was pretty - it didn't quite reach his eyes. It didn't take Dean very long to determine that it was fake. Dean had become the king of fake smiles, since he had to keep up a reputation at school and all. Castiel closed the door as he walked out and past Dean, their chests brushing slightly in the narrow hallway.

Dean turned his head and watched Castiel walk out and into the livingroom, having changed into a pair of plaid pajama pants - Dean's - and a black sweater with sleeves that stretched slightly over his hands, exposing just his fingertips - also Dean's. He'd expected that Castiel wouldn't want any attention drawn to his scars in front of Bobby or Sam, so he'd gotten something with long sleeves for him. Even though Dean was upset about Castiel's obviously fake smile, he couldn't help but bite his lip at the sight of Castiel wearing his clothes.

He walked out of the hall and into the kitchen sometime later and joined the others at the table, taking a seat at the end, between Sam and Cas.

"You ain't religious, are ya? We don't say grace or nothin'." Bobby explained, looking at Castiel.

"I am, but it's fine, I won't impose on you." Castiel said, his voice sounding oddly even and collected.

Bobby shrugged and started eating, along with Sam. Dean picked up the hamburger and took a large bite before looking at Castiel, wiping his mouth as he chewed. Castiel's eyes seemed to light up the slightest bit when looking down at the food. He picked it up - sticking his pinkies out - and took a bite.

Sam was bragging to Bobby about his grades in school while Dean kept his eyes fixed on Castiel, trying to watch for some kid of...something. The change in demeanor was enough to practically give Dean whiplash. Castiel glanced up at Dean through his eyelashes, licking a bit of ketchup from his lips as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at Dean.

Dean wasn't gay.

So why the _Hell_ did he feel his dick twitch in his jeans at the look Castiel gave him?

"Boy," he heard Bobby say, snapping him out of his trance to look at the old grump. "Stop oglin' your boyfriend and eat your food, didn't cook it for nothin'."

Both Castiel and Dean felt their cheeks heat up, turning a bright pink.

"He's not - I'm not - no, okay?" Dean said, dropping his burger and running his hands through his hair. "I'm not gay and I definitely ain't pining for Cas."

Dean glanced at Castiel, seeing the hurt look on the boy's face and started gaping like a fish, a stupid, idiotic, insensitive fish. He stuttered slightly, looking to say an apology.

"That's why you're staring at him like you wanna-"

"Shut up Sam." Dean scolded, eyes burning holes into the side of the smug little bastard's head.

"Whatever boy, you know I don't judge so-" Bobby started, standng and tossing his plate into the trash.

"I'm not gay!" Dean screeched indignantly.

"I'm...going to go to sleep." Castiel said, clearing his throat. "Thank you for the meal."

Castiel good up, tossed his plate in the trash, and hurried off down the hall back to his temporary room.

"Better go comfort your boyfriend." Sam teased, ducking his head from  Dean's hand as he tried to smack the back of that mop of hair.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

"Cas?"

Castiel bit his lip as he heard Dean's voice from the other side of the door.

"C-come in." He managed to say, quickly wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands.

Dean twisted the doorknob and cracked the door open slightly, just enough to see Castiel sitting on the bed.

"I said co-"

"Relax, I heard you." Dean said, stepping in and closing the door softly.

Castiel looked up, his eyes puffy and red from crying. He looked back down at the ground quickly, licking his lips and letting out a shaky breath.

"Hey, uh...sorry if Sam made you feel-" Dean started, shifting on his feet.

"It isn't that." Castiel's gaze shifted around the room, looking anywhere but at Dean.

"What is it?" Dean asked, furrowing his eyebrows and coming to sit next to Castiel on the bed, just a fraction of an inch closer than before.

Castiel noticed the proximity.

"Nothing, it's...it's not important." Castiel said, tugging at the sleeve of Dean's sweater he wore, wishing he could curl up into the fabric and disappear.

Dean most likely didn't buy it.

"Okay, you can tell me later. How about you tell me why you were pretending to smile earlier, before dinner?" Dean asked, fingers tracing patterns on the sheets absentmindedly as he looked at Castiel, waiting for a response.

Castiel looked away, eyes trained on the wall now as he mustered up the courage to respond.

"I didn't...want them to feel uncomfortable." He rushed out, not wanting to waste Dean's time by stuttering, he did enough of that.

Dean was silent, probably expecting more of an answer than that. Castiel sighed.

"I've...become accustomed to adapting my behavior as to not irritate anyone or make them feel like they should pretend to care." Castiel explained, tearing up again.

God, he was such a wuss.

"You pretend to be happy, so people won't ask you what's wrong?" Dean summarized, tilting his head as he watched Castiel.

"Yes."

The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound being that of Castiel's slightly ragged breathing.

"Cas?"

"Hm?"

_You're so pathetic. You deserve to die. Why are you even still here? Why don't you just kill yourself already? No one wants you. You're just a burden. You're just-_

"What's wrong?"

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows at the question, of all the things he was expecting Dean to say, that wasn't one of them. How is he supposed to answer that? What _isn't_ wrong? He felt himself tearing up, because even if Dean was just doing all of this out of guilt, or just doing it to mess with Castiel later and use his weaknesses against him, it felt so fucking good to have someone to at least act like they care.

No one has cared, no one has acted like they cared, for so long, if not ever.

He turned and faced Dean, losing all of whatever he composure he had left and burying his face in Dean's chest, shaking violently and sliding his hands underneath Dean's arms, clutching his shirt and crying into his shirt.

He couldn't find the engery to care if Dean was going to laugh at him for this later because seconds later, he felt arms wrap around his torso and pull him closer until Castiel was sure he was sitting on Dean's lap.

Castiel didn't care.

"Nobody cares." He sobbed, tugging at Dean's shirt until he was sure he was going to rip it. "Why doesn't anyone care?" He asked, his voice cracking indignantly, making him sound whiny and pitiful.

Hands were on his back, one up by the back of Castiel's neck, holding his against Dean's chest, the other holding the small of his back even, rubbing up and down.

"They j-just think th-they c-c-can...hurt someone over and o-over and over until they can't anymore because...because I'll be d-dead and they'll just...just m-move on and pretend I never existed and th-that...that I didn't h-h-have feelings-"

"Cas, you gotta calm down." Dean interrupted, resting his chin on the smaller boy's shoulder.

Castiel took a few deep breaths, still trembling and clutching Dean's shirt tightly. Dean didn't mind, in fact, he welcomed the treatment, fuck this shirt, he had plenty of shirts.

Fuck this shirt.

He rested his forehead on Castiel's shoulder, just holding him, sitting there and holding him and not giving a flying fuck about how gay it was because who the fuck even cares? So what if he does like Cas like that? There's no problem with that.

It's ironic how he's saying that now but probably just last week he would have made fun of Castiel for being gay.

But the thing is, Dean doesn't feel gay.

Because he isn't.

He's not gay, he doesn't like dick, he's a full-fledged player of the other team because chicks are just...awesome.

But this is Cas.

And for some reason, he feels like he can relate to Cas so much, he feels like he can be with Cas.

He could tell Cas about his dad abusing him too, because Cas isn't alone.

He could tell Cas about his mom.

He could go to the park with Sam and Cas.

He could kiss Cas.

And hug Cas.

And whisper to him that he cares and it's gonna be okay.

He can totally be gay for Cas, even though he's not gay.

"No one...no one would even...m-miss me." He heard Castiel mutter, noticing that he'd calmed down quite a bit.

He rubbed the small of Castiel's back and pulled away from his shoulder slightly, turning his head and looking into irises bluer than the Atlantic Ocean.

"Shut up." Dean murmured, shaking his head the slightest bit and moving his hands to Castiel's waist, fingers splayed over the strip of skin exposed from now Castiel was leaning over Dean's body.

Dean flicked his eyes down to those Goddamn chapped lips, watching a flash of link dart out to wet them, then disappear again. He'd never kissed a guy before, but Castiel's lips looked so tempting that he just had to.

He leaned in, pressing his lips against Castiel's, fluttering his eyes closed and letting the sensation of another dude's lips on his overtake him.

It wasn't so different from kissing a girl, a little bit of a rougher texture, yeah, but the same rules applied.

He squeezed Castiel's hips gently, urging the boy to kiss back because so far, Castiel's wasn't responding at all. He was sitting there like a lump on a log, stationed in Dean's lap, Dean's mouth on his, but not doing anything. Dean wondered if he'd made a mistake, if he'd come off like he was just looking for a quick gay experience with some random slut he'd found and pretended to be nice to in order to seduce, because that's probably what it seemed like to Cas right now.

Dean was _kissing_ him, and Castiel didn't know how to react.

How do you react to something like that?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Contrary to what Dean thought, Castiel's lips felt soft, soft like a pillow, or a feather, or something else that's soft. Dean isn't good with analogies. He'd thought they'd feel like sandpaper against his own, what with how chapped they were, not that Dean thought about kissing Castiel often.

Because he didn't, no way.

But now, with Castiel pressed against him and his hands on Dean's shoulders, the warmth from Castiel's radiating onto Dean, seeping through fabric and possibly even skin. Dean's cheeks felt warm with what was probably a blush, because he was basically embarrassing himself here. Castiel still wasn't kissing back.

He pulled away gently, subconsciously licking the taste of Castiel from his lips. He cleared his throat awkwardly, hands still planted on the trembling boy's hips, holding him in place. Castiel's eyes were off to the side, staring at the wall, his cheeks just as red as Dean's. After a few agonizingly quiet seconds, Castiel broke the sentence, his voice hoarse.

"Wh-why...did you do that?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

He didn't look angry, but confused instead, like he was questioning his life choices.

"Uh..." Dean cleared his throat, moving one hand from Castiel's hip to run it through his hair, a nervous habit of his.

He glanced at Castiel, who still refused to look at him. He couldn't blame him really, it was confusing. Dean, who had bullied both verbally and physically for the past two years, had just basically threw his heterosexuality out the window for the broken blue eyed boy he was supposed to hate.

"That...that was...kissing?" He said, his voice raising slightly at the end, as if it was more of a question than a statement.

Castiel glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye, the flash of blue caught by Dean's eyes as he slowly snaked one arm around Castiel's waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Castiel didn't protest so he took it as a green light.

"Why? Because you feel bad for me?" Castiel asked, voice breaking the slightest bit like he was holding himself back from crying.

"No! No, 'course not, well, I mean, I do feel bad, for everything, but, y'know...not for that. I just...I dunno man, you just-" Dean paused, stumbling over his words like he'd forgotten how to talk.

He waited a few seconds, just looking at Castiel. He raised his hand and gently ran his thumb over the curve of Castiel's jawline, trying not to see the way the boy flinched slightly, like he was expecting something rougher. Dean threaded his fingers into Castiel short, ruffled, brown locks and turned his head slightly, blue eyes flashing upwards to meet his. He leaned in, to touch their lips together again or maybe to just get closer and touch their foreheads together, some sort of contact.

He _definitely_ didn't feel a pang in his chest when Castiel wriggled out of his grip and pushed Dean away by his chest so he was flat on his back, laying on the bed. Castiel scrambled to stand up and nearly tripped as he ran out the bedroom door, and most likely the front door as well. Dean jumped up and followed him out, watching as the boy slid past Sam, who was passing by with a glass of water. Dean bumped into his little brother and cursed, but not at Sam.

"Cas, wait!" He called out, but the boy was already out the door.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, watching Dean chase after Castiel.

"Nothing, go to sleep Sam."

Dean swung the door open but of course he just had to remember that Bobby's cabin was out by the park, right next to a patch of trees that provided a perfect hiding place for someone running away, in the dark.

It was raining too.

...

Castiel wasn't at school the next day. How could he come to school and face Dean anyways, after what happened? Dean tried to brush it off, but he couldn't help but wonder if Cas was out alone somewhere in the town, or worse, back home. If Cas was home, that would mean that he wasn't safe, he was gonna get punished for not coming home in the first place, which was Dean's fault anyways. He considered going to the Novak house, but that wouldn't do any good even if Cas was there, because that would just piss his dad off even more, plus, he didn't know where Castiel lived.

He brushed it off and tried to imagine that Cas was crashing in some motel outside of town.

But Castiel didn't show up the next day either, or the next, or the next. After a week or so, Dean couldn't take it anymore, Sunday afternoon, he drove around town, just surveying the town for any sight of Castiel walking around, hoping to get lucky and catch a glimpse of him.

He didn't.

The next day, after school, he didn't have much luck either.

On Tuesday, people started to talk, they started saying that he killed himself, but Dean didn't want to believe it, so he looked for him again.

As he was driving around Tuesday evening in the dark, deserted streets on the outskirts of town, listening to his dad's favorite ACDC cassette. He'd been searching most of the day, he even managed to fit a little bit in before school started, just because he couldn't handle not knowing where Castiel was. He had gotten up at three, because he'd woken up at two due to his drunk ass dad stumbling in from the bar.

He pulled on some clothes and his shoes, grabbing his dad's car keys once he was passed out in his room, face down in his own vomit. Dean hadn't batted an eyelash at it, he'd seen it enough times to become accustomed to it. He checked on Sam once before setting his baseball bat next to Sam's bed, just in case. Just in case.

While he was driving down the road, he thought he had caught a glimpse of someone walking alongside the road, someone wearing a black sweatshirt and frayed blue jeans, someone who looked an awful lot like Castiel.

He swerved and made a U-turn, stopping the car at the edge of the grass by the road, then stumbled out, leaving the door open because he couldn't find it in him to give a shit because holy shit here's Cas.

"Cas!" He called out.

When he looked around, he felt like he was disoriented. He was just here. _Cas_ was just here. Dean stood in the empty road, looking around, the tall trees on the side of the road towering over him. The Impala's headlights shone a few feet ahead of the car, the for still left open and abandoned. The road was dark other than that, dark and deserted.

Dean looked at the ground, clenching his jaw and swallowing thickly. He got back into the car, slamming his hand on the steering wheel before driving off again, the engine roaring.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Castiel had never been homeless before.

Well, _technically_ , he wasn't homeless now, he was able to go back home if he pleased.

As long as he didn't mind his punishment once he did.

He had walked along the dark trees, conveniently placed by Bobby's cabin, which played on his side as he tried to distance himself as far away from Dean as he could. He knew Dean had given up following after him after a while because he stopped hearing the boy's voice shouting his name. He didn't really expect Dean to chase him for so long.

Or at all.

Because, for the past few years, Dean had emotionally, mentally, and physically tortured him. He'd tricked Castiel into a false sense of security, aided his asshole friends in the public humiliation he experienced, and beaten him multiple times, all to regain what power he didn't apparently have all of the time.

If he had to admit it to himself, Castiel might have liked Dean in the beginning of high school, he might have had a crush on the leather jacket wearing trouble maker with brilliant emerald eyes and plump, kissable lips, because who wouldn't? But he soon realized that liking Dean wasn't an option for him, not when Dean and his followers tormented him because he was gay or nerdy or whatever the Hell their reason was.

But he found that unliking someone isn't so easy. Even with the glances he'd received from Dean promising a beating or something other, he found himself entranced by green. Even with smirks sneaked behind the teacher's back, laughs and jokes at Castiel's expense, he found Dean's laugh intoxicating.

It didn't help with his self-esteem.

Because, having a big gay crush on the boy that caused you to carve his name into your arm? It isn't healthy.

He remembered the first day he met Dean Winchester, before he knew how cruel the boy really was. He'd sat next to him in French class, and Dean asked to copy off of his homework, and then forgot to bring it back the next day. Castiel redid the homework, because it was a small price to pay for being able to talk to Dean, even if no talking was really done on his side.

He also remembered the first day Dean called him a name, it wasn't too long after the homework incident. They were in the locker room and as Castiel was looking around, trying to find his locker, he may have let his eyes linger on a few back muscles of one of his fellow classmates - not Dean, since he was fully dressed - and Dean had caught him. The whole lockeroom looked at him when Dean laughed and shouted at him, asking him if he was a fag 'or something'. Castiel denied the accusation, but Dean just shook his head, making a disgusted face and telling him that 'fags like him need a separate locker room, to stop the wandering eyes'.

Castiel cried that night for an hour or so, glad his father was working overnight.

The first time Dean had hurt him physically was sometime in the middle of the school year, just after the beginning of the second semester. It had caught on around school - thanks to Dean and the others - that Castiel liked boys. Most people were accepting, but they did nothing to prevent the bullying that followed, they just watched.

He'd been fixing a few things in his locker, making it neat, when the door slammed shut and nearly took his finger off, but he pulled it away just in time. Dean had been leaning against the locker next to his, looking cocky as ever, having just met Alastair and no doubt picking up smoking by the way he smelled. He asked Castiel a weird question, if he was the one 'taking the dick up his ass or giving it', as Dean put it, and when Castiel tried to explain that he wasn't 'taking' anything, that he wasn't having sex - which wasn't entirely true since his father had been sexually abusing him for a few years by this time, he had no choice in it - Dean backed away with a horrified expression and announced to everyone around that 'he didn't want Castiel coming onto him' and suggesting sex. Castiel tried to explain that he wasn't doing that, that he was answering Dean's question, but Dean shoved him back. Dean called him a queer and struck him in the gut, causing Castiel to double over.

Long story short, he stopped having his crush on Dean sometime in tenth grade.

So why was he feeling so confused about Dean kissing him? It was wrong, because Dean had done all these terrible things to him, he didn't mind that Dean wasn't gay, or that maybe he was experimenting and chose the wrong person to do so with. Dean's lips were so soft, and his hands so warm on Castiel's hips, holding him and stroking his thumbs over his skin. Dangerous thoughts.

...

Castiel had gone back to his house while his father was at work the next day, skipping school - for once - to get some things he'd need if he was going to be a runaway. He wasn't surprised when his father hadn't reported him missing to the police, that would attract negative attention to a public figure like him. He'd probably made up some story about Castiel going to his aunt's house for the week or something to keep people at bay.

Castiel didn't care.

He gathered his things in a backpack, some spare clothes, bathroom supplies, his phone charger, though he'd have a hard time finding somewhere to charge it. He'd grabbed his savings packet hidden underneath his mattress, stuffing it in there too. It was full of the money he'd saved up in the past six years, nearing around $5,000. Birthday money, allowance from his father, Christmas money from distant relatives who only seemed to care about him during the holidays, he'd saved all of it up, being rich helped.

He changed into some casual blue jeans he'd found in the back of his closet and wiped his eyes, sniffling as he headed out, leaving his house key behind since he wasn't planning on returning.

...

Motels were cheap, he'd figured out. He was able to stay in motels for little money, with almost no questions asked why a teenager was on the streets and not in foster care or with his parents. He liked the fact that people didn't care, for once.

He'd charged his phone in the room and gotten some good sleep, at least twelve hours or so, he'd been tired from crying and walking so long, at the same time. Once he did wake up, he felt weird, not being in school while school was in session. He ignored the feeling though, and decided to stay in all day, mainly just playing on his phone, checking his father twiiter on occasion to see if he had anythng to say about Castiel's 'trip to his aunt's house'. There was none.

However, he had hundreds of texts from his father, unanswered because he didn't see them due to the incident and trying to focus on running away. He scrolled through the texts and found himself becoming more and more frightened with each one, trembling by the time he'd set his phone down.

**Come home.**

**Castiel, if you aren't in my car in five minutes I swear to God.**

**I'm waiting.**

**Where the fuck are you?**

**Castiel, I'm not kidding.**

**Get your ass to my car, you ungrateful little prick.**

**I'm at reception, I won't go home until I find you somewhere in this fucking hospital.**

**Did you leave with that little shit weasel that brought you here?**

Some were old, most were new.

**Castiel, if you come home now, I'll take it easy on you.**

**You think im lying?**

**Come home right now.**

**I swear Castiel, if you're not here in twenty minutes or less...**

**You're with Dean, is that it? What, is he inspired by your arm art?**

**You're sucking that boy's dick, aren't you? That's why you won't reply to your father. Fucking whore.**

**You munipulative little asshole, after all I've done for you...**

The messages only got more and more hateful and Castiel cried in the shower just thinking of what twisted things his father were to do to him if he had gone home. He wasn't going to go home. Ever.

...

Castiel's thought drifted to Dean one night, a few days after he'd first run away, as he was laying in the motel bed, wearing Dean's sweater, even though it wasn't helping his situation.

He wondered if Dean was still looking for him, if he had even started in the first place. He probably didn't, but Castiel liked to pretend that Dean at least tried to care about his disappearance. He wondered if Dean was regretting kissing Castiel, regretting ever taking him in and being nice to him, because a lot of good it did him. He wondered if Dean wanted his clothes back anytime soon. Because, in all honestly, he wasn't ready to give them up.

One night, at least eleven or twelve days after he'd ran away, he had just gotten out of the shower when he heard his phone go off. He knew it was most likely another hurtful, degrading text from his father, but he opened it up anyways, because he was curious as to what horrible thing he had to say about Castiel today. He'd gotten daily texts from his father, telling him how ungrateful, greedy, slutty, and disgusting he was, he'd gotten used to the abuse and only cried for about twenty minutes yesterday.

**Fuller Peaks Inn.**

He let out a shuddering breath, feeling tears sting at his eyes as he tossed his phone on the bed and dressed quickly, not bothering to dry his hair since it was raining outside anyways. He left his phone and even his bag, only bringing with him Dean's sweater and his own pair of black jeans as he sprinted out of the motel room, crossing the parking lot and quickly walking down the side walk, looking over his shoulder every so often. He glanced at the sign once before continuing on towards Bobby's house.

Fuller Peaks Inn.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

It was raining that night.

Dean was sitting on the couch, Sam asleep next to him, head thrown back onto the couch, sitting uowright, book still open in his lap from studying. Bobby was asleep too no doubt, either that or doing whatever the Hell old people did in their rooms. A rerun of Friends was saying on the living room TV and Dean was watching it, it had come on while he was channel surfing and he just left it on.

A crack of thunder sounded outside but Dean's eyes stayed fixed on the TV, not really paying much attention to it. He hadn't found Cas. He'd looked and looked, not noticing how consumed he'd became with it. After about a week, he gave up, much to his dismay. Castiel didn't want to be found so Dean didn't try as hard as he should have. As much as he wanted to bring the idiot back here, to safety, to shelter, Castiel didn't seem to want that or else he would have come back by now.

Of course he considered the possibility that Castiel was dead, either caught by Bartholomew or offed himself. He didn't like the idea, but he knew it was a strong possibility. He knew it was likely.

He sat in the dark living room, eyes trained on the TV distractedly, hands on his thighs tiredly. He'd gone to school, people had noticed that Cas was gone - which pissed Dean off because that's when they sure started to care, or at least pretend to, not when he showed up and just avoided everyone and everything. They started talking. Obviously the most popular belief was that he committed suicide, and Dean noticed people sneaking glances at Cas' empty seat in the class they had shared, muttering something about 'the poor kid being bullied into it'.

Dean wanted to punch them, because they could have done something, they could have said something, they should have. _Dean_ should have. Dean should have just left Cas alone in the first place. All of it was Dean's fault, if he would have just left Cas alone then he, at the very least, wouldn't have had as much bullying to deal with. Dean thought back to how he used to see Cas, how he used to get so angry whenever he looked at him because Cas had this perfect life while Dean's mom was dead and John didn't give a flying fuck about Dean or Sam. He used to hate Cas solely for this reason and now it physically hurt him to know how wrong he was. How he wrongly assumed Castiel's life was perfect when - Jesus Christ - it was so much fucking worse.

He hated himself.

This must have been Castiel's mind set all the time, the self-loathing, the wondering why it couldn't have happened to someone else, the emptiness.

Dean felt tears prickle at his eyes and blinked, clearing his throat. Sam stirred beside him and he glanced over, seeing the boy settle back into the couch with a content sound. He closed the book in his lap and put it on the floor, draping a blanket over him and just...watching him.

If it was true, if Cas was dead, then Dean was gonna try him damn hardest to make sure Sam would never have anyone lay a finger on him. He'd kill the asshole that would put a bruise on his baby brother, if they dared. He'd take a bullet for Sam. He would.

He looked back at the TV, swiping the heel of his palm roughly over his cheek, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched the show.

...

Dean was just about to doze off himself when he heard a knock at the door, it was quiet, timid almost. He got up and ran a hand through his hair, grabbing one of Bobby's shotguns because no one should be knocking at the door this late, during a rainstorm. He opened the door, pointing the gun at the figure, then registered who gasped and immediately backed away, nearly falling off the porch as they whimpered and apologized. He put the gun back and walked out, looking at the person.

"Cas?" He asked, his voice breathless with...relief? Relief.

Castiel didn't say anything, but he glanced back at the pathway, contemplating just walking away and leaving Dean alone because he was probably just annoying the tired boy.

"Here, c'mon, it....i-it's raining." Dean stuttered, tugging Cas inside.

He shut the door and looked at Cas, who was taking in the scene of the sleeping boy on the couch and the quiet atmosphere. He touched Castiel's arm and led him to his room, shutting the door behind them and turning to see Cas looking around, taking in the ACDC posters on the walls. John didn't let him put things up in his room at home.

"You're...alive." Dean breathed out, wanting to reach out and tug Cas close because holy shit, Cas was alive.

Castiel turned to looked at Dean, big blue eyes wide with terror and hands wringing nervously. Dean noticed Cas was still wearing his sweatshirt, he wore different jeans but Dean didn't care about his pajama pants, he had another pair. The sweatshirt was soaking wet, but he didn't care about that either, he only cared about the way Castiel's arms were hidden in the sleeves, only the tips of his fingers visible as he fumbled with them nervously.

"What happened?" He asked, not risking stepping forward and scaring Cas away.

Not again.

Castiel seemed emotionally drained, his lip was bitten raw and split, but he'd seen his fair share of injuries, and that wasn't from a fist. He sighed in relief at the thought.

"N-nothing." Castiel lied, Dean couldn't be bothered with Castiel's drama, Dean didn't deserve to listen to him rant.

Castiel came here for a different reason, he came here to feel needed, to feel wanted, to feel loved, even though he knew Dean didn't love him, couldn't love him. No one could, he was used up and damaged, only good for one thing and one thing only. He knew that, but he wanted to feel like he was worth something, tonight.

"C-can...can y-y-you..." Castiel's breathed, cheeks pink. "Can y-you k-k-kiss me...a-again?"

The look on Dean's face was of shock, but Castiel knew that deep down, he must be disgusted. Why wouldn't he be? He probably only kissed Castiel those some weeks ago because he felt bad, or because Castiel was a whore and must have thought he down for anything. He didn't blame Dean, not one bit, he was a whore, he'd let Bartholomew tell him that constantly.

When someone tells you something day after day, it sticks with you, you start to believe it.

He expected Dean to kick him out into the rain again, or shove him away and throw hurtful slurs at him, and he would accept it, it would only make his choice easier anyhow. He didn't expect for Dean to surge forward and actually kiss him, or to be cautious of the wound on his lip, or take his hands and intertwine their fingers or just...be so gentle.

No one had ever been gentle with him before, no one being Bartholomew.

Dean's lips pressed against his and he closed his eyes, not realizing he'd been trembling until he stopped. He waited frozen, just enjoying the warmth Dean's body provided, the tingling feeling his lips gave him all over his body. He'd never been truly kissed before, not like this, it had always been one-sided and messy, teeth clattering and Castiel brushing his teeth until he gums bled afterwords.

This was different, this was soft sweet, warm, meaningful. He felt tears slip down his cheeks, grateful that Dean had started kissing him in earnest, too distracted to see Castiel's tears. Castiel sighed into the kiss shakily, one hand prying itself from Dean's to cup the boy's cheek cautiously, making sure he wasn't overstepping any boundaries.

The kiss remained sweet and gentle until Castiel moved his hand down Dean's clothed chest, his arm shaking and trembling nervously when he could feel the band of Dean's pajama pants. He needed this, he needed Dean, he needed something other than Bartholomew, he needed to stop thinking so much, at least for tonight.

Dean knew Cas was hurting, he knew Cas needed this because all he'd ever had was Bartholomew.

He complied, moving his hands to Castiel's waist, soothing over his hipbones. Sex with a guy couldn't have been any different than with a girl. Plus, it wasn't like Dean was uneducated, he'd done anal with this one college chick he met last year, Lisa or what the fuck ever her name was, she was down for anything. He knew the basics, lube, overall gentleness.

Castiel pulled his lips away from Dean's, relieved by the fact that he hadn't been rejected, and moved his now free hand to Dean's shirt, lifting the hem up slightly. Dean got the message and took his hands off of Cas' waist momentarily to pull off his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He went back to kissing Castiel, open mouthed but still just as slow as the boy was willing to take it.

Castiel felt Dean's hands travel upwards under the soaking wet sweatshirt, silently asking the same thing of him. Castiel had considered just leaving it on, to cover up his scars, because they were ugly and disgusting, Castiel was, he was.

"C'mon." Dean whispered quietly, tugging the sweatshirt over Castiel's head with only a bit of struggling.

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the ground in shame, because Dean didn't want to see the reminders of his failures and depressing thoughts. He didn't need that.

"None of that." Dean whispered almost inaudibly, wrapping his hands around Castiel's wrists and bringing them up to his face, gently because Castiel was fragile and Dean had already hurt him enough.

Castiel felt a tear slip down his cheek when Dean pressed a soft kiss to his wrist, over where multiple cuts overlapped. Dear continued this treatment all the way up Castiel's arm, moving to the other and doing the same, pausing as his lips hovered over where his name was carved into Castiel's arm, pressing an extra long kiss to each letter.

He'd done this before, kissed all over a girl's body, the girl didn't have cuts like Castiel, but she enjoyed it so Dean thought he'd incorporate it into Castiel's situation, judging that he was doing a good job by the way Castiel's shuddered and watched him closely. He wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist, walking him backwards until the backs of Castiel's knees hit the bed and he sat down.

Castiel started to move, turning to stand on his hands and knees, but Dean stopped him, kissing him again without hesitation, like he'd kissed Castiel a thousand times. Castiel relaxed at the feeling, carding his hand through Dean's hair timidly because he wasn't sure if he was doing good for a first-timd consenter or if he was just coming across as needy.

"Gonna take these off, alright?" Dena asked, pulling away to look down at Castiel.

He'd do that often, only with Cas because he knew Cas needed that confirmation that he could say no, that he could stop this at any moment, that he had that power. Castiel needed this power, and he marcelled st the fact that he actually had it for once, that Dean let him have it. He wouldn't be using it, but he just loved knowing that he was able to. He nodded and watched Dean move down slightly, nudging Castiel until he was fully laid back on the bed, Dean's face by his stomach and pressing gentle kisses.

Dean had to admit, it was weird, kissing someone's navel and feeling short hair brush against his chin, but he didn't stop, he didn't stop because he loved the little full body shudder Castiel did. He unzipped Castiel's jeans, glancing up at him as he dragged them down his legs. Before he could even think about it, he was kissing at the horizontal cuts and burns on Castiel's thighs, his hand on Castiel's inner thigh, gently holding it still from where it shook.

Castiel hadn't been wearing any underwear, which didn't surprise Deans since he left here with none on. What did surprise him was that Castiel was already hard and leaking at the tip. It felt weird, being this close to another guy's dick, his face just inches away, but he kept his face where it was, kissing at Castiel's scars. He didn't stop until he felt himself start to grow hard in his pants, and he looked down at the slowly forming tent in confusion because he hadn't even done anything to Cas yet.

Castiel looked down at Dean, who was staring down in confusion, Castiel figured because Dean didn't consider himself gay, yet was undressing another boy and kissing around his intimate parts. Castiel realized then that for once, he had more experience in sex than Dean Winchester.

"D-Dean?" He asked, his voice small.

Dean's head snapped up and he looked at Castiel before realization hit his face and he nodded, standing up and pulling his pants down, crawling back on the bed.

Shit. He didn't have lube.

"I..I don't uh..." He stuttered, scratching the back of his head.

He felt his cheeks heat up and he wondered why all of a sudden it was possible that an innocent blue eyed boy was able to make Dean blush, Dean!

"D-do you have...have l-lotion?" Castiel asked just as shyly, his own cheeks heated and dark red.

For some reason, he felt bashful, not like how he felt when Bartholomew took his body, not shameful and dirty, he felt shy and embarrassed under Dean's shimmering light green eyes. It felt completely different and Castiel was so drunk on the feeling that he didn't realize Dean had leaned over him and grabbed a small lotion bottle from the beside table.

When Dean had leaned over, his semi hard on brushed against Castiel's ass and he groaned, one hand coming to rest on Castiel's hip and dig into his hipbone because holy fuck, that felt better than he'd expected. In the time it took him to lean back and pop open the lotion bottle, his dick had filled in fully and he looked down at it, astonished.

"D-D-Dean." He must have zoned out again on it when he heard Castiel plead.

He looked up, seeing Castiel's fingers gripping at his sheets and his ass grinding back against the bedsheet, looking for friction.

"Yeah, yeah I got ya Angel." He heard himself mutter lustfully, rubbing some lotion around on two fingers before swallowing thickly and bringing them downwards.

Castiel closed his eyes, taking his bottom lip between his teeth when he felt Dean's fingertip press against his hole an eventually push in slowly. He enjoyed the feeling, it being much more bearable than Dean just pushing his way in completely, he let out a small whimper. Dean's eyes flickered up to Castiel's face from where he'd been staring at his disappearing finger and he watched the boy's face.

"You okay?" He asked, sounding breathless.

Castiel nodded, he was more than okay, he was great, because Dean was gentle and caring and so much different. It was all so different.

"It...it's okay," he swallowed. "You c-can put an-another in."

Dean nodded and ran his thumb over Castiel's hipbone softly as he pushed in his second slick finger. He was right, this wasn't much different than fingering a girl, it was tighter around his fingers, yeah, but pretty much the same other than the now quietly mewling boy beneath him.

His confidence grew with the comparison and he started pumping his fingers in and out of Castiel slowly, curling them upwards every so often until he knew he'd hit something because Castiel jerked and Dean would have stopped and asked if he was okay, if it wasn't for the moan it yanked out of Castiel at the same time. He smiled down at Castiel and repeated the action, watching the boy's mouth fall open as he moaned again, covering his own mouth so it didn't echo in the small room.

It had only gone on for another few minutes before Castiel insisted he was ready, the bossy little shit.

"So demanding." Dean joked, moving so he was still in between Castiel's legs, ignoring the unfarmiliar feeling of hair brushing against his hips and waist.

Dena leaned down, catching Castiel's lips in another deep kiss as he rested his hands on slender hips, thumbs against his hipbones and rubbing softly.

"Please." Castiel begged breathlessly against Dean's lips, and Dean nodded, forehead pressed against Castiel's as he pushed in.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out Dean's view of bright blue irises, but he didn't complain, because Castiel's face was priceless. His jaw had slacked and his lips were barely plopped open, a huff of air escaping them. Castiel's eyebrows were furrowed together all the way up until Dean was seated fully inside of Castiel, hips on Castiel's ass, legs wrapped around his waist and ankles locking behind his back.

Dean swallowed thickly, because holy mother of God he forgot how tight asses were compared to vaginas. He groaned, squeezing his own eyes shut now and dropping his head to Castiel's shoulder. Castiel reached up cautiously, arms hooking under Dean's armpits and hands splayed over his shoulder blades, panting and squeezing his legs around Dean's waist, silently pleading for him to move because Dean was big, bigger than Bartholomew but so much more gentle and so much more careful.

He felt full, he felt good, he felt cared for.

After a moment, Dean nodded, mainly to himself, and slowly dragged himself away from Castiel, slowly plunging back in. Castiel's breathing hitched because soon enough, Dean was moving efficiently and fucking him earnestly and Castiel was loving it. He was moaning softly and his leg twitched every so often when Dean would just barely brush over his prostate.

It felt good, it felt so good that Castiel wondered if he was dreaming, but he wasn't. Dean was here, on top of him and inside of him, making love to him. Even if that wasn't what it was or what Dean would call it, that's what Castiel would call it, because this is the most love he's felt in a long time, other than when Kevin saved him outside of the school weeks ago.

This, this was what he wanted, what he craved, what he yearned for. This is what he needed.

Dean's skin was slapping against Castiel's now, and Castiel had a hand clamped over his own mouth to muffle his broken moans so he didn't wake up the sleeping boy in the next room or the older man somewhere in the house. Dean turned his head so he was looking down at Castiel, panting and smiling through it because Castiel was enjoying himself, he was liking this and Dean was the cause of it, well, his dick was, but he still counted it as a win-win.

In a matter of minutes - record time for Dean - he was coming inside Castiel and moaning into the boy's neck, panting against the damp sweaty skin. Castiel followed suit with a bit of coaxing and touching, but Dean didn't mind because it was important that Castiel came, that he got through his first time having consensual sex completely.

Dean slowly pulled out of Castiel with an obscene squelching noise and flopped down next to him, closing his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. In the midst of tryng to get his heart rate back to normal, he felt a hand slide over his chest then hair brush against his nipple. He opened his eyes and looked down, lips wuirking at the sight of Castiel resting his head on Dean's chest.

He ran his hand through Castiel's dark hair and pulled the covers over both of them after cleaning up Castiel's chest with a tissue, with difficulty since the boy was almslt too tired to move. He ran his hand through Castiel's hair, petting at his scalp as he felt the boy's breathing slow down back to normal along with his, his side warm where Castiel was curled into him.

Castiel was gone again the next morning.


	18. Chapter 18

Castiel had left a letter for Dean.

Sometime during the night, he'd woken up and checked the clock to see it was about three am. It was still dark outside, stars dancing above the cabin, out where no city lights could disturb them or dim their brightness. Castiel liked them, he liked the simplest things, like bees and flowers.  
He stood up from the bed cautiously, making sure he didn't wake up the sleeping boy or disturb him in any way. Carefully untangling himself from Dean's grip, although he didn't want to, he pulled on his boxers and pants, grabbing his own shirt from when he stayed here last, the night Dean had kissed him.

Dean's arms were strong and warm, and Castiel loved the way they felt wrapped around his waist from behind, holding Castiel's back to Dean strong chest, soft puffs of air against the back of his neck and light snores in his ear. He felt safe in Dean's embrace, ironically enough. It only made it that much harder to move when he had to get up.

He got dressed, folding Dean's sweater that he'd practically stolen up and setting it in his place next to Dean on the bed. While the blonde haired boy was still asleep, Castiel grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and sat down, only using the light from his phone as a guide so he could write. He wrote softly, trying to make his cursive as legible as possible.

 _"Dear Dean,"_ it started.

...

When Dean woke up, Castiel was gone, but Dean's sweater that he'd lent the boy was in his place. Dean sat up and rubbed half of his face, dragging his hand down his cheek. He yawned and stood up, cracking his neck and fingers as he opened the blinds. A part of him hoped that Castiel was in the bathroom, but then he saw the note.

He skimmed over it rather quickly at first, eyes widening when he came across the word he'd never expect to hear - or read, in this case - from Castiel. In the letter, he must have apologized at least ten times. Sometimes for the stupidest thing, like being a burden to Dean and everyone else at their school, to his father. He'd apologized for being odd, an easy target, that he'd never stood up for himself, that he just took it all without complaint.

Dean had to set the paper down and recollect himself at one point, it was so depressing and it made Dean feel like shit. For the first time, he was seeing things through Castiel's eyes as he read what the blue eyed boy wrote, he was experiencing Castiel's life in a brief summary right there in his hands, right on that paper. Was Castiel's life really that bad?

When he started to read about Bartholomew, and how all the sexual and physical abuse started, he set the paper down for a few moments and sat on this bed, running his hands over his face. This certainly wasn't the wake up call he'd expected. He'd expected a sleeping, raven haired boy next to him, chest rising and falling steadily, face soft and content. Not this.

He'd read to the end of the note and somehow he just knew why Castiel had written this, had left this for Dean to see. It was abvious in the words Castiel used, the tone of the whole letter.

 _Hopelessness_.

Dean quickly grabbed his sweater and pulled it on, along with a pair of jeans and shoes. He didn't bother to even zip up his jeans as he grabbed the car keys and raced out the door.

...

He'd driven all over town, twice. While he was driving, he was getting serious déjà vu. He was scouring the town, eyes concerned as they searched for a mop of dark hair on the streets, sidewalks, and everywhere else. He even drove by Castiel's house, but was greeted with the sight of Bartholomew just arriving home, and he didn't look smug or pissed, just indifferent, like Castiel's absence meant nothing to him.

He had to drive away quickly before he could get out of the car and do some serious damage to the bastard.

After three days, he gave up, again. Castiel obviously didn't want to be found, and if he did, he'd do what he did before and show up at Bobby's cabin, where he knew he'd be safe and taken care of.

It wasn't until a few nights after that, while Dean was driving Sam home from soccer tryouts - with Slushies since Sam made the team, the look on his face was all Dean needed to smile - that he saw Castiel again. They'd been taking the long route home, since Sam was tired and car rides always helped him sleep, when Dean passed by Greenrow Bridge.

At first, he didn't even notice the dark haired figure stopping by the edge of the bridge before climbing up onto it. He did fucking notice when the guy turned around though, feet together and one hand holding onto the steel beam supporting the bridge from above. Dean swerved the car, cringing at the sound of his tires being ruined as they squealed on the tar ground. Sam jolted awake and rubbed his eyes, watching as Dean stumbled out of the car.

"Cas!" Dean yelled, sprinting to the bridge.

Castiel's head shot up and a panicked look crossed his face, then a look of shame washed over him. Dean looked over his shoulder and called to Sam. Sam quickly got out of the car to see the commotion, meeting Dean's eyes and taking out his phone, dialing 911. Dean reached Castiel just as the boy turned and looked down at the water rushing below them. Dean noticed his rosey cheeks were stained with tears, his clothes torn and dirty, hair a mess and neck and wrists red with handprints.

"Bartholomew." Dean breathed out.

Castiel turned his head to look at Deana gain, nodding slightly, ashamed.

"H-he f-f-found m-me, I...I w-was at h-home, I th-thought he was st-still at work...I-I'm s-sorry." He cried, swaying slightly and wiping his tears with the palm of his hand.

Dean looked up at the boy though tears, blinking them back and tentatively reaching a hand out.

"Gimme your hand Cas, I'm gonna help you down, o-okay?" He said, his voice wavering slightly.

He let out a shuddering breath when Castiel shook his head, feet edging closer to the end of the cement fencing on the bridge.

"Cas, c'mere, I'm gonna help, alright? You're gonna stay with Bobby and Sam and me, okay?" Dean tried again, reaching for the boy's hand.

Castiel whimpered and clutched the steel beam with both hands, heels dangerously close to the edge. Rushing water was all that filled Dean's ears until he shook it away, not wanting to picture how cold it was, how fast the current was.

"I-it w-w-won't get b-better, he'll...he'll find m-m-me ag-again." Castiel sobbed, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.

"No, Cas, he won't. We'll have him out in jail, you can live with us, with me. Please, please come down." Dean pleaded helplessly, stepping forward, closer to where Castiel was.

Castiel whimpered again, this time more high pitched than the last. Dean watched how Castiel moved away from him, resting his weight on one leg, the other only barely touching the ground, eliciting sounds of pain from Castiel when he pushed on it. Castiel half turned to look down at the water again, and Dean felt his face heat up with anger, anger towards Bartholomew because Castiel was fucking bleeding. Red ran down the back of Castiel's jeans, on the back of his thighs and probably coating the inside of the pants.

"Cas?" Dean asked when Castiel had been staring at the water for too long, eyes blank, not even fearful.

It seemed to happen in a split second. Castiel turned back to Dean and spoke softly, arms trembling as he let go of the beam.

"Thank you for trying." He heard Castiel say.

Dean screamed when Castiel leaned backwards and his feet slipped off of the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is not happy, and it is also not a trick or a dream of Dean's. It's very real and pls send your hate mail straight to my inbox your tears fuel me.
> 
> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to the story.
> 
> Turning Page by Sleeping at Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)

Dean smiled, arm slung around Sam as the two walked through the halls.

"I can't believe I just got here and you're already leaving." Sam said, arms crossed.

Dean laughed lightly, shrugging.

"Well, I'm not gonna let myself get held back just to be here with you for the next four years." He said.

The two walked in step. Sam had grown over the summer, miraculously considering he was a pipsqueak his whole life. He'd grown at least a foot now and was easily catching up to Dean, and his hair was long. Sam claimed he wanted to grow it out because girls like guys with long hair, and he threatened to cut Dean if he came near him with a pair of scissors.

"Plus, if you ever need me to come over at any point to beat the shit outta any douchebags who wanna fuck with you, just call." Dean added, his arm slipping from Sam's shoulders.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. It was his last year in highschool, finally, but Sam had just started. He'd already met a girl in his theatre class, Sam said she thought his long hair was hot and Dean just rolled his eyes. This girl, Jess, must be into rocker guys, too bad for Sam, the nerd.

"Nah, that isn't really a problem anymore here." Sam said seriously, looking up at Dean. "They're really cracking down on the bullies now."

Dean nodded. He knew why the school was suddenly taking an interest in the serious bullying problem they had here, everyone knew why. It was hard _not_ to know when everyone was talking about _'that weird kid who apparently got raped by his dad or something'._

 _Everyone_ was talking about Cas, even the freshmen.

Alastair and the other guys Dean used to regularly hang out with were talked to about the problem, but let off the hook by Principal Dick Roman, who was later fired for getting caught fucking the nurse. Alastair didn't even seem sorry about what happened, he went around telling people that _'the kid had problems and it wasn't his fault'._

"Heya Alastair, how's the nose?" Dean asked mockingly as he passed the boy in the halls, waving at him while wearing a shit eating grin.

Alastair glared at him through his bruised and purple eyes, but sped up his pace to get away from Dean.

"Hey Sam, see you in theatre later!" Charlie called out, waving at Sam, then flickered her eyes to Dean, her smile fading into a more tame one. "Dean."

Dean smiled softly as he passed the redhead. He came to know Charlie at the beginning of the year, when he joined the 'You Are Not Alone' club. Balthazar, her, and Kevin had started it. Dean joined without hesitation. It was started specifically to help kids suffering from depression.

"Well aren't you just popular?" He asked Sam, punching the boy's arm playfully.

"Shut up." He said, cheeks pink, as they passed a group of girls, all of whom waved at Sam.

Dean waved at Kevin when he passed the boy, and Kevin offered a small, but still wary smile. It was expected.

"Alright, see you after school." Dean said once they were in front of Sam's classroom.

"Actually...Jess wanted to walk to the park after school..."

Dean cracked a smile and nodded.

"I'll tag along, be the annoying third wheel." Dean joked.

Sam didn't look amused.

"I'm kidding, damn, get a sense of humor. See you at home then."

Dean waved him off and headed to his own class, hands in his pockets. He passed by the school art display case, slowing down to look at the large picture presented smack-dab in the middle. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he read the plaque underneath it for the millionth time since they'd put the display up the first day of school.

_'Castiel Novak; not a victim, just someone who'd fought too hard for too long.'_

Dean blinked back tears and looked down, wiping his eyes. He hated this, he hated that the school only cared about Cas now that he was gone, now that he was dead.

How dare they.

He glanced back up at the picture, Cas' junior yearbook picture. The way he'll stay in Dean's mind forever. They way he'll always stay. He smiled softly at the familiar blue eyes before walking away to his class, letting out a shuddering breath.

...

Dean drove the Impala, listening to the radio instead of the usual Metallica cassette of his dad's. He was grateful actually that Sam went to the park with Jess, because it gave him the chance to do something he hadn't in a few months. Dean slowed down, lifting his foot off the pedal until the car rolled to a stop. He got out and reached over to the glove department, opening it.

He took a deep breath and pulled out a crumpled up piece of paper, slamming the glove department closed again before getting out. He walked over, clutching the paper tightly in his hands as he made his way over to the railing of the bridge.

He saw Castiel's junior year picture again, a smaller version that what was in the hallway at school. It was surrounded by dead flowers and a small, black teddy bear. He sighed, grabbing the flowers and tossing them into the water. They'd been there since the beginning, since people stopped caring once the story got too old for their liking.

Dean never left anything. He didn't know what to leave. He didn't know what Cas liked.

He opened up the piece of paper and took another deep breath, skimming over it.

_Dear Dean,_

_I almost didn't write this._

_I almost just gathered my clothes and left without a word, never to be heard from again, but I knew I couldn't do that. I couldn't just leave, not after our night. I know you don't seem like the kind of person to like Lifetime movie type moments, so I'm sorry if you read this and think it's stupid. You can stop reading it whenever you want. I won't hold it against you._

_I just wanted to let you know that, although you weren't, and probably still aren't, exactly in my fanclub (I don't have one. I was making a joke.) in the beginning, I want to thank you for at least trying or pretending to be toward the end. I think you know what I mean by the end, you've seen my arms so you must know why I'm not in your bed right now._

_I want to thank you for making last night something I enjoyed rather than feared. I want to thank you for pretending to enjoy yourself for my sake. I want to thank you for helping me with my father. I'm sorry I was so hard to deal with._

_I don't forgive you for what you've done. The beatings, the flagpole incident, the name calling. I remember all of it and I don't forgive you for it, but I don't hate you for it anymore either. I learned that hate doesn't get me anywhere, because, at the end of the day, whether I hate or not, I'll still be my father's toy and your inconvenience._

_I'm sorry I was such an easy target for you and your friends, I wish I could have stood up for myself, but my father taught me long ago that it isn't necessary, that all I'll ever be is a plaything. I'm sorry for the crush I had on you those years ago, I know it must have been embarrassing for you, having some weirdo gay kid have a thing for you. Right? I'm sorry._

_I'm sorry that I made you lose your friends because you were nice to me, I'm just so sorry for it all and I wish I could make it up to you. I can't._

_Thank you Dean, for putting your life on hold to shine some light on my shitty one, for the time being. I'm tired of annoying people. I'm tired of everything really._

_Goodbye, Dean._

_~Castiel_

Dean sighed as he read over the note for the billionth time. Every time, every time he felt guilty. Castiel didn't deserve all the shit he got, he didn't. Dean wished he had realized that before. He cleared his throat and wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Fuckin'...every time Cas, every time, you make me get all...chick-flicky." He whispered, physically unable to speak any louder.

He leaned his elbows against the railing where Castiel once stood, looking down at the water.


End file.
